


Nightwing: Under the Red Hood

by CanaryCry



Series: Dick Grayson: Murder Victim [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Under the Red Hood, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Blood, Comes Back Wrong, Drugs, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Self-Harm, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Revenge, Romance, Torture, Underage Drinking, drug references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-11 15:42:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 72,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanaryCry/pseuds/CanaryCry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly after the events of Auld Acquaintance, the Joker leads Batman and Robin on what was supposed to be a wild goose chase, nothing more. Instead, Robin is brutally murdered at the hands of the clown. Two years later, a new vigilante appears in Gotham. One part crime lord, one part homicidal Batman, the Red Hood is willing to go to drastic lengths to achieve his goals and have his revenge on the man who murdered him and the father who failed to avenge him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Punchline

**Author's Note:**

> This scene is particularly graphic, just be warned. A lot of the dialogue is borrowed or adapted from the film "Batman: Under the Red Hood", but since it's Dick and not Jason there will be some variation. Also, I'm sorry the series title is so awful. I will fix it later when I come up with a better name. Updates will probably be sporadic, I'm sorry to say, but please bear with me if you like my writing :)
> 
> Update 27/2/2015: I've noticed quite a bit of ableist language going on in this story. I have removed a few bits that were easy to take out, but the majority of it is probably going to remain untouched unless I decide to give the entire story a major overhaul at some point. A lot of the language is coming from Dick himself, which can be chalked up to his head not being in a particularly good place and feeding into low self-esteem. I am trying to avoid it in future writing now that I've picked up on it, and I am working on maturing Dick's viewpoint on mental illness as he goes through recovery in the sequel. Hopefully I will do better in the future, and I apologise to anybody who I may have hurt when I wasn't thinking sufficiently about what I wrote.

They had been here for hours, the air ringing with maniacal laughter. Robin’s wrists were rubbed raw from the Joker’s rope. His chest burned as he struggled for air while the Joker stood over him, stroking a bloodied crowbar. Robin’s breaths rattled in his throat until he coughed up a mouthful of blood all over the grimy floor of the shed.

“So quiet,” the Joker said, crouching beside Robin’s shuddering form. “What’s the matter, Bird Boy? Bat got your tongue?” Robin glared at him, unimpressed. “Hm, tough crowd.” The Joker made a mock frown, which somehow managed to look less disturbing than his usual grin. “I need some new material.” He smacked the crowbar into his palm twice before he got up, chuckling softly. “Or maybe just an old favourite.”

“I’d rather you just kill me,” Robin said quietly, spitting more blood out of his mouth, “than subject me to more of your comedy.” It was a wonder he could speak at all, let alone form coherent sentences.

“But where’s the fun in that?” The Joker began to slowly rotate the crowbar in his hands. It made Robin nauseous just looking at it. The last thing he needed right now was to start retching and put even more strain on the body that was already beginning to fail him. He had to pull himself together, hang on and grasp the remaining shreds of hope in his trembling fingers. Surely Batman couldn’t be that far away. Robin certainly wasn’t going to get out of this himself, not with his ribs broken and his spine searing and blood welling up from deep inside, slowly drowning him.

“Maybe some more physical comedy will get this show rolling along.” The Joker pressed the edge of the crowbar against Robin’s cheek. “You haven’t sung for me yet, Birdie.” He dug the crowbar into Robin’s shoulder and rolled him over onto his back. Robin cursed under his breath as his spine creaked and scraped against itself. “Ooh, didn’t like that, did you? Tell me what hurts more: forehand…” _Crack._ “…or backhand?” _Crack_.

That last strike whipped every last ounce of air out of Robin’s body. He gasped to get it back, but started to choke and had to cough it back up, trying to roll onto his side to give the blood somewhere to go. Even with the blockage cleared, it was still almost impossible to breathe. His body screamed for air that he just couldn’t take in.

“Was that too hard?” the Joker asked, putting on a particularly creepy approximation of a nurse at the bedside of a dying patient. “How are we feeling?” Robin tried to gasp out a reply, but the words died and crashed on the floor about an inch away from his lips. The Joker knelt down. “What? Speak up, lamb chop. You might have a collapsed lung. Always impedes the oratory.”

“I’ll…” Robin cleared his throat, “…feel better when…” The words were taking so much out of him, using up air he didn’t have, and he had to take a break.

“When what?” the Joker prompted.

“When Batman kicks your—”

“Oh, I don’t plan on sticking around, kid.” The Joker used the crowbar like a walking stick to help him stand. “By the time the Bat gets here, you and I will be long gone.”

Robin had to take a moment to gather his strength to speak again. “Where?”

“Ah, the young are always so impatient.” The Joker tutted, waggling his finger. “Somebody needs to be taught a lesson.” Robin braced for the impact, but couldn’t stop himself from letting a cry when the crowbar dug into his kidneys. “Oh, you’re going to sing now?” Another strike left Robin completely breathless and gasping. “It’s about time. I was starting to worry I wouldn’t get to hear your lovely birdsong one last time.” He said something else, but Robin’s own cries drowned him out as the beatings increased.

_Please let it stop_ , he begged. At this point, he didn’t care how it ended—be it Batman coming to save the day or his own death—as long as it just _stopped_. His vision blurred, but in his current state he couldn’t tell if it was from tears or the Joker’s beatings knocking something loose in his brain. The sob escaping his throat cleared up his confusion a little.

The Joker’s cackle cleared the cobwebs in his head. “Sorry, kid. I got a little… excited.” He patted Robin’s cheek. “There, there. It’s nearly over.” He let out a small giggle. “Don’t you worry about the Bat, now. I’ll explain everything to him, in excruciating detail. Everything we said, every little sound you made, every drop of blood you were rude enough to spill on this lovely floor.”

“Fuck you,” Robin breathed.

“All this time I have been planning and scheming, thinking of ways to finally defeat the Bat.” The Joker tossed his crowbar aside and walked out of Robin’s field of vision. “Nothing was good enough, was it? Not my Joker toxin, not even that nuke I borrowed—”

“Stole,” Robin corrected.

“I was going to give it back,” the Joker said, sounding scandalised. “Well, sort of.” He let out another one of his cackles. “I suppose that doesn’t matter now, does it? I finally found the perfect punchline: you. And the best part, the most genius part, is that it’s not just the Bat I can break. Sure, that’s my main gig, but how do you think your little team will fare without you?”

“You’re pretty... confident for a… for a dead man.” The sentence took all of Robin’s strength to choke out. “They’ll come for you. All of them.” His vision was starting to waver. It was unlikely he would remain conscious for much longer.

“Oh, we both know the Bat won’t let that happen.” The Joker walked back into Robin’s line of sight. “He’ll come after me alone. And then the fun will begin.” He picked up his crowbar. “Well, kid, I’m off.” He started for the door. “Be a good boy, do your homework and be in bed by nine.” Then he was gone.

The instant the door crashed shut, Robin sprang into action, rolling onto his side and climbing over his bound hands so they were in front of him. He scrambled onto all-fours, dismissing the idea of standing up in case the change in altitude made him pass out, and crawled for the door. He had to get out of here. He tried the handle, but the door was locked from the outside, most likely with a padlock. The Joker had taken his utility belt, shoes and gloves so he didn’t have anything to pry the door open.

Robin sat against the door, too out of breath to even let out the sigh of frustration that pressed against his throat. Was there another way out? There were some high windows, but even if he had the strength to reach them, they were too small for him to fit through.

A soft beep caught his attention. On the opposite end of the room, where he had avoided looking because he just knew he would have left a trail of blood behind him, a table sat stacked with explosives. The little red numbers on the timer had twenty seconds left. Robin bashed his shoulder against the door a few times and tried the handle again, but all he managed to do was conjure some black spots in his vision and send a new wave of agony throughout his entire body.

There were now ten seconds left. Robin’s mind whirled, thoughts flying through his head at a million miles an hour. He was finished. The Joker had won. Batman would arrive too late and be left with the task of carrying Robin’s broken body out of the smoking rubble. Bruce had always teetered on the edge of the abyss and it hurt Dick’s heart to think he might be the final push needed to send him over.

Dick regretted never fighting Bruce over keeping his identity hidden from the team. They would be devastated by this. Kaldur, Conner, Raquel and Artemis would put up a strong front like always, of course. M’gann would cry openly and Zatanna would retreat into herself like she had after her father became Doctor Fate. Wally, the only member of the team who knew his identity… the thought of that stupid smile disappearing from his face…

Three seconds left. Robin closed his eyes, resigned, and counted.

_2_

_1_


	2. Two Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years after Dick died, a stranger shows up in Wally West's bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timeline doesn't really make sense, I know. Pushing the events of Season One back a year will probably be the best way to prevent brain implosion from trying to find the logic here.

While Wally didn’t find the same utter joy in snow days as he once did, he was grateful for the extra day to catch up on his homework. He’d barely been back at school for two weeks and he was already falling behind, since every one of his teachers had suddenly decided at once to prepare their students for senior year way in advance. Even with the extra time, he still hadn’t finished by dinner, resulting in him eating quickly and in smaller quantities than he usually would. He’d regret that later, but right now he really needed to get his physics done.

When he got back to his room, however, somebody else was standing there in the dark. Wally shut the door behind him, not wanting to alarm his parents. They still found his other life as a superhero unnerving, especially since Dick’s death, and anybody who would sneak into his room undetected had to be from that life.

“Uh, hi,” Wally said. “I hope you’re not here to kill me. Mum will bring me back just to make me clean up the mess.”

“I’m not here to kill you,” the other person said quietly. His voice was familiar, but Wally couldn’t quite place it.

“Well, that’s a relief.” Wally reached for the light switch, but stopped when the other person flinched. “No light? Uh, okay. So, who are you?”

“Guess.” The voice held a hint of amusement that was also somehow familiar to Wally.

“I don’t know,” Wally said. “I mean, you seem familiar but we’re in the dark and I haven’t slept.”

“Left your homework until the last minute again, Wally?” That amusement was there again, and it was really starting to nag at him. Who was this guy? The answer was hanging just out of reach. Still, this person knew his name and poor study habits, so that narrowed the possibilities a little.

“Are you really going to make me guess who you are?”

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me,” the other person said. “Therefore, the only logical course of action is to have you figure it out for yourself.”

“Or, you know, we could turn on the light.”

“I doubt that’ll help. I’ve changed a bit since we last saw each other.”

“When was that?” Wally asked. He was starting to feel embarrassed by his lapse in memory. He was normally good with remembering people, maybe because he was often so memorable himself.

“About two years ago,” the other person replied. “Depending on certain circumstances, you may have seen me sooner than I saw you.”

“And what circumstances would those be?”

“That would be too much of a giveaway.”

“Oh, come on!” Wally sat heavily in his desk chair, glaring at the intruder. “You broke into _my_ house. You’re standing in _my_ room.”

“This isn’t the first time, KF.”

“That doesn’t… wait.” Wally squinted into the darkness, trying to make out the figure. “There’s only one person who’s ever called me that, and he’s been dead for—”

“Two years,” the other person finished.

“Dick?” Wally said quietly. “No way. You’re kidding me.”

“I did say you wouldn’t believe me.” Now that Wally had made the connection, Dick’s speech, although quieter and deeper than it had once been, was unmistakeable.

“No,” Wally breathed. “This is impossible. Tell me something only Dick would know.”

“The things that only I know could fill at least ten encyclopaedias,” Dick replied. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Tell me about our conversation while you were working undercover in Haly’s circus,” Wally said after a moment of thought. The conversation had burned itself into his brain and it was likely Dick would remember it vividly as well, since the circus was such a large part of his life.

“I hadn’t wanted you there because I didn’t want my best friend questioning my objectivity, but you said that was what best friends were for,” Dick replied immediately. “You told me you knew how much that circus meant to me.”

“Okay, I believe it’s you,” Wally said, even as his mind was reeling. “I don’t know how you’re alive, but I believe you.” His chest was aching as he stared at what he could see of his best friend. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you, Dick.” He got up, but as he made to hug him, Dick shrank back. “Okay, no hugs. Uh, why don’t you sit down or something?”

“I’m good,” Dick said quickly. “I’m sorry for bothering you. If the weather hadn’t been so—”

“Dude, it’s okay.” Wally sat back down. “Have you told anyone else?”

“No. You’re the first.”

“Dude, you need to tell the others,” Wally said. “Things just went to hell after you died. Did you actually die? I mean, I saw the body but—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Dick cut him off. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Why not? Don’t you think Bruce deserves to know at least?”

“I have some things to do first and I don’t need Bruce, the League _and_ the Team breathing down my neck.” Dick finally sat down on the edge of Wally’s bed. From the little light coming from the streetlamp outside, Wally could see that Dick was a fair bit taller than the thirteen-year-old he used to be. He also didn’t look particularly healthy. Maybe it was just the light, but he looked rather pale and sickly.

“What kind of things?” Wally asked, not liking the sound of this one bit.

“Things that don’t concern you,” Dick said shortly. He let out a soft cough, barely louder than a breath.

“You okay?” Wally asked, dropping the subject of Dick’s future endeavours. “You don’t look too good.”

“I’m fine. It’s just the weather.”

“Bullshit it’s the weather.” Wally got up again. Dick flinched when he put his hand out. “Dude, chill. I just want to check your temperature.” Despite the dark, Dick’s glare was blindingly obvious. Since he didn’t break Wally’s arm when he reached out again, Wally braved the glare and felt Dick’s forehead. As he’d expected, it was hot.

“It’s just a fever,” Dick said irritably. “I’m sure it’ll be gone in the morning.”

“Dick, you need a doctor.”

“No doctors.”

“But—”

“I said no!” Dick didn’t raise his voice, but he may as well have. “No doctors, no League, no Team, no Batman. Don’t you dare tell anybody about me or I will personally break all of your arms and legs.”

“Dude, you don’t need to threaten me. We’ve got some flu tablets in the bathroom. If you’re not going to see a doctor, at least take something.” Wally crossed his arms, feeling somewhat motherly with the way he was fussing over Dick. “When was the last time you ate?”

“I don’t remember,” Dick said quietly.

“I’ll be right back.” Wally made for the door, ignoring Dick’s protests. His mother was washing the dishes in the kitchen.

“If you’re already hungry, you can make something yourself,” she said with a touch of irritation. Wally didn’t blame her for being annoyed.

“I know, Mum.” Wally made a few sandwiches and filled up a glass of water. He stopped in the bathroom on the way back and grabbed the flu tablets. If Dick was going to be a pain and not let him get help, then he’d have to do the best he could by himself.

Dick didn’t appear to have moved in the time Wally was away, but the curtains around the window were now shut. Wally dropped the plate of sandwiches onto his desk and passed Dick the water and tablets.

“Do you have anywhere to stay tonight?” Wally asked, sitting down and grabbing a sandwich. Dick swallowed the tablets with several gulps of water.

“Not really, no.” Dick set the water aside. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll find somewhere.”

“You could just crash here,” Wally offered. “Mum and Dad don’t usually bother me because I’ve got so much homework at the moment. As long as you leave before they get up, they won’t even know you were here.”

“I don’t know if that’s—”

“Dude, you’re running a fever and you look like you haven’t eaten in a week,” Wally snapped. “Take a damn sandwich and chill. If you don’t want to talk about how the hell you survived a brutal beating and a fiery explosion, fine!” Dick winced slightly. “You can just sit there quietly if you like. I’ve got homework to do, so I’m turning on my desk lamp whether you like it or not.” He switched on the light, picked up his pen and got back to work. As he was starting on his third problem, Dick snatched up a sandwich and retreated to the bed. He looked even worse in the light, but given his current evasiveness Wally decided it wouldn’t be a good idea to pester him about it any further. He worked in silence while Dick just sat in the background. He’d only eaten that one sandwich, but Wally didn’t want to argue anymore. One was better than nothing.

Dick didn’t say anything else until Wally had finished his homework. “Who came to my funeral?” he asked so quietly that Wally nearly missed it.

“We had two funerals,” Wally replied. “One for Dick Grayson and the other for Robin. Bruce, Alfred, Barbara, her dad, Artemis and I went to your civilian funeral, plus some reporters and a few kids from your school I didn’t really know. Haly and a few of the circus performers came, too. The official story was that you died in a—”

“Terrorist attack. I know.”

“How did you—?”

“I have my ways,” Dick said evasively. “Who came to Robin’s funeral?”

“So many people that I can’t even name them all,” Wally replied. “We remodelled part of Mount Justice into a grotto as some kind of monument to the fallen. There’s this massive hologram of you in there. You’re the only one so far and I hope that only changes when you finally decide to tell everyone you’re okay.”

“The funeral, Wally.” Dick seemed to collapse into himself, having curled up into a ball in the corner shared by the bed and wall.

“We kept it quiet,” Wally said. “Didn’t want any supervillains getting any ideas. The grotto was too small for everyone who showed up so we had to have the funeral in the Mission Room. Even then, it was cramped. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the whole League was there, plus our team. Kaldur and Superman kind of ran the whole thing. Everyone was crying, even Wonder Woman. Batman kind of kept to himself. We didn’t see him for a while afterwards.”

“Can’t have been too cut up. I heard he’s already got another sidekick.” The bitterness in his voice left a sour taste in Wally’s mouth.

“You know what Gotham’s like,” he said. “Even Batman needs someone watching his back. Jason’s still new and he’s nothing like you. He’s on the team, but he’s a bit hard to work with sometimes. Doesn’t have the same—how to I put it?—reverence for human life as the rest of us.”

Dick made a small noise of disbelief.

“I’m serious, Dick. No one could ever replace you.” Wally wasn’t entirely sure what was going on with Dick at the moment. Sure, he’d always had his insecurities just like every other person in the universe, but his confidence had usually outweighed them. Now, however, there was a disturbing combination of desperation and desolation that surrounded him, like he was starved for attention and even the slightest thing wrong would throw him off the deep end. Wally wanted to just gather him up in his arms and make everything okay, but given the amount of coaxing that had been required just so he could check his temperature, he had a feeling Dick wouldn’t be all that receptive to the idea.

“Forgive me if I don’t believe that,” Dick said quietly, watching the curtained window. “I should go.”

“No,” Wally said firmly. “You’re sick and dead on your feet. You’re staying here tonight.” He pulled out a sleeping bag from the closet. “I’ve got some spare clothes if you need them. Mum was going to donate them to charity, but I’m sure she won’t miss some of them.” He dug around in the closet and returned with some of his old clothes from years ago. “Take the sleeping bag, too, if you want. I don’t even use this one anymore.” He stuffed the clothes into a spare backpack and put it on his desk while he opened the sleeping bag and set it on the floor for Dick.

“Thanks, Wally,” Dick said quietly. He suddenly sounded so tired. Wally had to stop himself from hugging him and instead ran the empty plate down to the kitchen to give himself something to do until the urge passed. By the time he was back, Dick was sound asleep and curled up into a ball. Wally tiptoed around, getting ready for bed without disturbing him. He finally climbed into bed, burrowing into the warm covers.

“Goodnight, Dick,” he whispered before falling asleep. When he woke in the morning, Dick was gone.


	3. Three Months Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three months after Dick and Wally's reunion, Batman investigates a series of bombing attacks on well-known criminal hideouts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not overly familiar with Jason's character when he was Robin, so hopefully he isn't too far off the mark. Also, my lack of knowledge of explosives is probably going to shine like an oncoming train.

Batman stood in the still-smoking wreckage of what had once been a rather well-known criminal hideout. Given the lack of damage to the surrounding buildings, Batman surmised that the explosion had been carefully controlled, which meant whoever had done this had likely received some training. Using the degree of burns on the corpses of the criminals caught in the explosion, Batman was able to estimate the origin of the explosion and found there were most likely two explosions, one behind the now shattered bar to provide plenty of shrapnel and another in the centre of the room for better spread. Batman was glad he’d convinced Robin to stay behind tonight. He wasn’t ready for this.

Hell, Batman wasn’t ready for this. There had been a number of these kinds of explosions over the past fortnight and each one had dragged him painfully back to that dreadful night when he’d had to dig Dick’s body out of the wreckage of that shack. Every one of these cases served as a reminder of his failure.

A soft cough behind him dragged him back to the present. “Jim,” he said, acknowledging the police commissioner’s presence.

“Same M.O. as the last three?” Commissioner Gordon said. It wasn’t really a question; they both already knew that answer.

“Two explosions this time,” Batman replied, indicating the likely locations. “Whoever did this was aware of the room’s layout.”

“And trained,” Gordon remarked. “Any residue?”

Batman ran a swab over the floor where the centre of the bar used to be. “Nothing obvious, but there might be traces left behind. I’ll let your people gather their own samples.” Batman carefully put the swab in a small container he kept in his utility belt and stood up.

“Good thing you didn’t bring Robin,” Gordon said, looking around at the carnage. There were at least twenty bodies strewn around the floor, some of them in several pieces or burned beyond recognition.

“I was just thinking that myself.” Batman and the commissioner left the remnants of the building together.

“How long has the boy been with you?” Gordon asked while they walked.

“Not long.”

“It’s a shame we were never able to charge the Joker for what he did to the previous Robin,” the commissioner said, giving Batman a rather severe look. “If you had cooperated—”

“You know why I wouldn’t hand over the boy’s body,” Batman replied shortly. They’d had this argument before, with the commissioner arguing that Robin deserved justice and Batman countering that it wasn’t worth revealing his identity and endangering the people left behind.

“I suppose you made a valid point.” The commissioner didn’t look particularly happy. “Look after this new kid of yours, Batman.”

“I intend to.” Batman pulled out his grapple. “I’ll get to work on my end.”

“We’ll compare notes later,” said the commissioner. Batman nodded curtly, shot his grapple line onto the nearest tall building and flew away from the wreckage. Even when he was across town, safely holed up in the Batcave, the image of the charred bodies had been burned into his mind.

Jason was practicing with one of the dummies when Batman hopped out of the Batmobile. “So, what happened?” the boy asked, landing a painful-looking kidney punch that would have incapacitated the average human. He didn’t have Dick’s grace or flexibility, but he fought with a ferocity that reminded Batman that Jason probably would have wound up working for a Gotham mobster if the pair hadn’t crossed paths the previous year.

“Another hideout, another explosion,” Batman said, dropping the swab into the receptacle for the computer to analyse. “Two points of ignition this time. Both very controlled, just like the other incidents.” Batman took the opportunity to test his new protégé. “With all the information we have, what does this tell us about the perpetrator?”

“He—”

“Or she.”

“Or she,” Jason added, stepping away from the dummy, “knows what they’re doing. They know where to hit and they know how to do it, so they probably have military training and are close with the criminals in the city. Could be a cop, I guess. Or a criminal who used to work with explosives in the military or police force.”

“All acceptable possibilities,” Batman commented, sitting down heavily in front of the computer and removing his cowl to rub his eyes. “Anything else we may be able to guess?”

“The people who have been killed in the explosions aren’t really linked aside from the fact they’re all criminals,” Jason said, pulling up a stool. “It sounds like our bomber just has a vendetta against Gotham criminals in general.”

“That’s possible.”

“Maybe there’s a new vigilante in town.”

“Let’s hope not,” Batman said quietly, watching the computer’s analysis of the chemicals slowly appear on the screen. “But if there is, it’s our responsibility to bring him or her to justice. It’s one thing to put on a mask and fight crime. It’s another thing to achieve this by killing.”

“I guess,” Jason muttered. “But wouldn’t this guy… or chick… make things easier for us?”

“Our path is not always the easiest,” Batman said, “but it’s the right one. We have no right to dictate who lives and who dies.”

“Right.” Jason didn’t sound convinced. Maybe Batman had jumped the gun by having him work with the Team. He had hoped they would rub off on him, but that didn’t seem to have happened. Wally had expressed his frustration with the boy on a number of occasions and it was clear the others weren’t always impressed with Jason’s… unique perspective. Batman had long since stopped hoping that things would settle down when Jason and the Team had gotten used to each other, after Jason had managed to forge his own identity separate from Dick’s. Maybe Jason being so young and inexperienced had something to do with it. Dick had had some difficulties with the team due to being younger than the others as well, although his main problem had been overconfidence.

While Batman had been lost in thought, the computer finished its analysis. Most of the chemicals had been consumed in the explosion, but even the trace amounts the computer found were better than the whole lot of nothing from the previous sites. The chemicals were actually fairly cheap and manufactured by many companies.

“So our bomber’s smart, too,” Jason said when Batman relayed this information. “Do you think he knows we’re on the case?”

“I’m almost certain of it.” Batman decided to disregard the manufacturers that didn’t have bases in Gotham for the time being. He hadn’t heard of these bombings occurring in other cities, so it was likely exclusive to Gotham. A few of the companies had ties to Wayne Enterprises, so finding out if any stock was missing wouldn’t be difficult. The chemical wing of Wayne Enterprises also manufactured the chemicals, but since Bruce hadn’t noticed any anomalies during his regular checks. He’d take a look at the records again, just in case. He briefly considered asking Jason to start on the other companies in the meantime, but the boy would die of boredom and probably miss details due to the repetitive nature of the task. Dick had been good at quickly and efficiently searching through records, but he wasn’t here anymore. He hadn’t been here for two years. Both Batman and Bruce needed to accept that and move on.

“So, what’s next?” Jason said; Batman had been silent for too long.

“I need to go through the records of all these companies,” Batman said. “You continue your training. This is going to take the rest of the evening, so maybe you should head to Mount Justice and train there.”

Jason made a small noise of disgust. “They don’t even like me there.”

“They just need more time,” Batman said, knowing it was an obtuse statement to say the least.

“They’ve had six months,” Jason said irritably. “It’s not working. M’gann’s okay, I guess, but Conner’s just a jerk and Kaldur is distant like I’ve pissed him off but he won’t tell me why. Zatanna doesn’t even talk to me and Raquel and Tula are barely around anyway. And then there’s Wally. He tries to act like he’s my big brother or something but he’s just _not_.”

“Would you like me to talk to them?”

“No,” Jason said immediately. “They already think I’m just a cheap imitation of the original Robin without you trying to solve my problems for me.” He sighed. “Whatever. I’ll see you later.” He made for the zeta tube at the back of the Batcave, Batman frowning after him. As much as he tried to delude himself that the team and Jason would eventually warm up to each other, that fantasy world was slowly falling apart. Batman caught himself wishing for Dick more and more each day. Not as a replacement, but to act as some kind of bridge between the Team, who were all much older, and Jason. Dick had always been quick to accept new members of the team and make them feel at home. With him gone, nothing was right anymore. The streets of Gotham were darker, the team was fracturing and Batman found himself becoming more and more distracted, a dangerous trait for a vigilante in a corrupted city.

It was moments like these when he almost regretted not killing the Joker when he finally caught up with him. It was a small comfort that the Joker hadn’t escaped since Batman had hauled him back to Arkham in a body cast. While he had refused to stoop to the Joker’s level, he wasn’t above taking out a small piece of his anguish out on the man who had killed the boy he considered his son.

No, he didn’t regret letting the Joker live. Batman was not a murderer. Even if the code he had sworn himself to sometimes chafed and itched like ropes, he knew he and Gotham were ultimately better off for it. An escalation by one side would be answered by an escalation from the other. If he started killing, who knew where Gotham would end up? Who knew where _he’d_ end up? What sort of person would he become? Not a hero, that’s for sure.

This person who was killing Gotham criminals wasn’t a hero, either. Whoever they were, they had to be stopped before they tore Gotham to shreds. Batman wasn’t sure which side this person thought they were on, but it didn’t matter in the end. He would not let some morally bankrupt vigilante or villain destroy everything he had worked so hard to build.

Batman pulled up Wayne Enterprise’s stock records. He had work to do.


	4. A Business Proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Red Hood makes his debut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is heavily based on a similar scene in the Batman: Under the Red Hood movie. Some dialogue is quoted word-for-word, but most of it is either modified or mine entirely. Since it's a shorter chapter, I won't wait too long to post the next.

The room was heavy with tobacco smoke and the stench of sweat and uncertainty. Six men and a woman sat around a cheap wooden table, looking askance at each other. They were in the middle of a warehouse, hardly the most original of meeting places for a bunch of drug dealers.

“Okay, so who called the meeting?” one of them finally said. Everybody looked to the woman.

“It wasn’t me,” she said, lighting a cigarette and reclining in her chair. While the men were glancing around nervously, she seemed strangely at ease. “By the looks of things, none of you numbskulls did, either.”

“Look, lady,” said one of the men, “I know you’re supposed to be some badass mama bear, but that doesn’t mean—”

“Shut your trap, child,” the woman said calmly, like she was ordering dinner. “I’ll talk to you however I like.” The man who had spoken up looked like he was about to reply, but a heavy _thud_ as a duffel bag fell on the table cut him off. The woman put out her cigarette, blowing smoke into the air, and reached for the bag, tentatively.

“Go ahead,” came a voice from above. “Open it.” Every head turned towards the newcomer, who was standing on the walkway above them, one gloved hand gripping the railing while the other nursed an assault rifle. The build of the newcomer suggested he was rather young, far too young to be holding a gun with such confidence. The young man wore dark jeans and an open blood red jacket with the hood over his head, casting his face into shadow. A form-fitting black and red shirt was visible beneath the jacket.

“Who are you supposed to be?” asked the man who had disrespected the woman earlier.

“That depends.” The young man’s voice held a degree of amusement, which seemed out of place in the tense atmosphere that his presence had stirred up. “Go on. Open it.” The woman reached for the bag, but the man next to her grabbed her arm.

“Don’t,” he said. “What if it’s another bomb? We lost ten men in the last club bombing.” The woman wrenched her arm out of his grip.

“Touch me again and I will separate your arms from their sockets,” she said coldly. “Do you really think the kid would risk his own life just so he can watch us get blown to bits?” No one replied. “I didn’t think so.” She unzipped the bag while the men crowded around to get a better look. One of them peeked inside, dashed away and vomited behind a shipping crate.

“Those are the heads of all your lieutenants,” the young man said, watching their horrified reactions. “That took me two hours. Care to see what I can get done in a whole evening?” While the men drew their guns, the woman looked on with a degree of disinterest.

“You wanna die?” one of the men shouted. “There are easier ways to kill yourself!”

“Yeah, like yelling at the guy who’s holding the biggest gun in the room,” the young man replied. He adjusted his stance to compensate for the kickback and fired a few rounds into the table, sending the drug dealers scrambling for cover. “Anyone else wanna get smart with me?” he said once the echoes of the shots had subsided.

“So, what’s your deal, kid?” the woman asked, getting up and dusting herself off as if she hadn’t just been shot at.

“Ah, Mama Bear. You were always my favourite.” The young man lowered his gun. “Listen up, dirtbags. I have a business proposition for you.”

Mama Bear picked up her chair and sat back down. “Then let’s hear it.” She banged on the table. “Get up here, you snivelling worms!” She offered the young man a rather predatory smile while the men around her scrambled into their seats. “I do appreciate the enthusiasm of the young. So eager to please. I hope, for your sake, that the main course is as spectacular as the entrée.”

“I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.” The young man pushed back his hood, revealing that he was wearing a red helmet that concealed his face, his eyes hidden behind a pair of white lenses. “I am the Red Hood, and I would like to offer you protection. The seven of you are the most influential drug dealers this side of the city, but you, like most of the scum in this place, have a problem.”

“The Batman,” Mama Bear said. “And what are your terms for this protection?”

“I will protect you from the cops, other mobs and Batman,” Red Hood said. “In return, you will give forty per cent of your profits to me. That’s more than your current handler, Black Mask, lets you see. Stay in the Gotham area if you want to keep my protection. I’m not Superman; I can’t be everywhere at once. You’ll also stay away from schoolyards and minors. No dealing to children, no using children for business. Got it?”

“And if we refuse?” said one of the men. Red Hood nodded towards the duffel bag, which was starting to ooze from the bullet holes the assault rifle had left.

“I believe I’ve already made myself clear in that respect.”

“You make a good case,” said Mama Bear. “I’d love to know who you used to work for.”

“I’m sure you would,” Red Hood said but offered no further information. “What’s your decision, dirtbags?”

“I ain’t working with some dumbass kid,” said the same man who had disrespected Mama Bear earlier. “Jimmy Thompson,” he added, jabbing himself in the chest, “don’t take kindly to threats.”

The Red Hood set his assault rifle aside. “Is that your final answer?”

Jimmy Thompson pulled out his gun. “Damn right it is.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate. For you.” The Red Hood drew a pistol and shot the man right between the eyes. “Anyone else got a problem with my offer? No? Good. Make sure your people are aware of this deal. We wouldn’t want any… accidents.”

“How do we get in touch with you?” asked Mama Bear.

“You don’t.” The Red Hood picked up his rifle. “I’ll find you when you need me. Don’t worry about that.” And then he was gone in a puff of smoke.

“So, what do we do?” asked one of the remaining men, his eyes on Jimmy Thompson’s body.

“We continue as normal,” Mama Bear replied. “The only exception being we answer to the Red Hood now.” She looked at the bleeding duffel bag with a slight frown. “And get ourselves some new lieutenants. Peter was a moron anyway. No real loss.”

“Who gets Thompson’s territory now?” asked one of the men.

“Thompson’s territory is mine,” Mama Bear replied. “The dumbass stole it from me in the first place.” With that, she got up and left the warehouse, leaving the still-dazed men to deal with the mess.


	5. Too Close For Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick continues his work while Batman steps up his investigation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's about double the length of the previous ones. I know that in the YJ universe, Barbara's supposed to be younger than Dick, but I just don't feel it. Therefore, she's about a year older than him in my own warped version of reality.

Dick Grayson sat in a quiet corner of a library in Gotham with one of their loaner laptops. The thing had all the processing power of a pocket calculator, but provided more privacy than one of the desktops where there was always the risk of someone peering over his shoulder while he was hacking into a number of large corporations’ databases. He had built a program to do a lot of the work for him, so mostly he was just sitting there, waiting and supervising to make sure the security software hadn’t changed. He avoided using the program on the Wayne Corporation since, knowing Bruce, he would have upped security to ridiculous levels that would make even hacking by hand a tedious and difficult exercise.

While he waited for the program to do its work, Dick scrolled through an electronic copy of Gotham Academy’s junior year math textbook. Being legally dead meant he couldn’t exactly attend school like normal, but that was no excuse to let his education fall by the wayside. He had even read the prescribed texts for English, even though he didn’t plan to ever return to Gotham Academy. It was the closest he could ever get to his old life, so he let himself have this eccentricity. He hadn’t been able to talk to any of his old friends, Wally being an exception he already regretted, and had to take great pains to avoid the parts of the city they would usually roam. He’d also given Gotham Academy a wide berth.

Wally had clearly made good on his promise to keep Dick’s continued existence a secret. Unfortunately, this meant that Dick couldn’t go and talk to Wally whenever he felt lonely. They weren’t even in the same city anymore. When he’d had access to the zeta tubes, this hadn’t been a problem, but he was really feeling the distance now. He missed Wally, a lot more than he thought he should. He shouldn’t have visited him. He had way too many things on his mind right now without Wally elbowing his way into his thoughts. Dick briefly toyed with the idea of calling him on the payphone that was just outside the library, but dismissed the idea. He was in the middle of establishing a small criminal empire under his new alter ego and didn’t have time for relics of his old life. Dick Grayson’s Robin had died in that explosion and Red Hood had taken his place.

Dick took a sip from his lukewarm coffee as he worked on a mathematical problem in his head. He rarely needed to write his equations down on paper, even when he was still in school. He had only done it because he had to show his working to receive full marks. He’d always felt shackled and held back in that class as he ran rings around his classmates. He was free from that now, at least, even if his head was full of noise that never ceased and he was forced to hide in the shadows so nobody would discover who he was. The brown contact lenses were a minor inconvenience, but necessary.

Dick heard a _beep_ through his headphones; the program had done its work. He put in the order details and sent it off. It would just look like the company was ordering a testing sample. Dick had fudged the calculations so a little extra product would be shipped, which would be set aside by his man on the inside for him to pick up later. It had taken months just to set up his connections, but not nearly as long as it had taken to scrounge up the cash to custom-order his Red Hood helmet. Resources had been scarce back then, but with the drug dealers in his pocket, that had ceased to be an issue.

The thought of working with drug dealers and other such scum made his skin crawl, but it was just as necessary as his contact lenses, if not more so. He couldn’t clean up this city without the resources to back him up. Besides, having those dealers on his side meant there were fewer criminals he needed to weed out. He was confident Mama Bear would keep the simpering idiots in line. Killing Jimmy Thompson had probably helped the Red Hood ingratiate himself with her. She’d only tolerated Thompson’s presence because her previous handler refused to let her dispose of him.

That previous handler, Black Mask, was now Red Hood’s focus. He was finished with the random bombings to instil a long-overdue sense of fear into the scum of Gotham. Black Mask in particular was a creep and so beyond deserving the kind of second chance Batman would offer. After all, Batman subscribed to the theory underpinning the justice system that people could change and therefore deserved second chances. Dick and Red Hood no longer believed that nonsense. That softness, that weakness, had died when his Robin did.

Dick moved on to the next company to hack, making sure to avoid any companies closely linked with Wayne Enterprises. While the program did its work, he switched over to his chemistry textbook. He had downloaded all the documentation for every class offered at junior year, even the ones he probably wouldn’t have taken if he’d still been in school—he’d already worked his way through the sophomore coursework. It wasn’t quite the same as learning within the classroom, but the textbooks, class notes he’d copied from the school database and online lectures on various video sites nearly made up for it. Studying chemistry almost seemed redundant when what he was doing was so beyond high school level, but there was the occasional thing he learned from continuing his fractured education. Besides, it kept him busy when he’d done all he could during the day and waited for the night so his real work could begin. He tried to avoid sleeping as much as possible.

The macro still wasn’t finished by the time Dick had finished the chapter in the book, even taking the time to work through all the questions. Concerned, Dick checked what was happening, but calmed down when it was just the computer being a moron again. He drained the last of his coffee, grimacing at the taste. The library had a coffee machine in a small break room, but the stuff tasted like playground bark. It was a very specific and off-putting taste, but caffeine was caffeine and it had been free. Most libraries he had visited either didn’t have coffee or charged for it. He was going to miss this place when he had to move on to avoid anyone tracking him down. This library had been his favourite so far.

While the program continued working at a sluggish pace, Dick watched the people around him. School was still in session so most of the other library users were adults, many with young children. The little boys and girls ran around the children’s area, squealing and being shushed by their parents. Somebody was sitting on a stool holding a picture book, probably a local author or a library volunteer, waiting for the kids to gather around her. Dick closed his eyes and listened when she started reading aloud. It wasn’t a story he was familiar with, probably a new release, but the usual tropes in children’s books shone through. The hope, friendships being made, people standing up for each other, happy endings. Dick felt a dull ache in his chest and had to stop listening, throwing himself into a physics textbook and loading an online playlist of music to drown the reader out. He didn’t have time for sentimentality.

The program was finally finished when he was in the middle of a tricky problem that had forced him to bring out a pen and paper. He tossed the pen aside, keyed in the details and let his second program take care of the rest while he finished the problem. It was a lot quicker after the first hacking, which handled the tricky bits. He’d already ordered the other chemicals for his explosives earlier that day so now he was free to do anything he wanted. He figured he’d finish up his physics work, go to his current hideout and take a quick nap before becoming Red Hood for the evening. He still had some ramen he could make for dinner.

Dick finished his physics work and turned off the laptop. He’d been here so long that the battery was nearly dead. He returned it to the rental desk, giving the lady behind the desk a winning smile he’d learned from Bruce years ago. He turned around, shouldering his backpack, and bumped into the girl behind him.

“Oh, hi,” he said, laughing awkwardly, not making eye contact. “Sorry. Didn’t see you there.”

“It’s okay.” The girl’s voice was high and hoarse, like someone he used to know. Dick looked up to her face and recognised Artemis’ features immediately. Dick squashed his surprise before it showed on his face. He hadn’t actually known where in Gotham she lived exactly, but had assumed she’d live closer to school. Clearly, that was a severe oversight on his part.

“Well, I, uh, better go,” Dick said. He was about to walk off when Artemis spoke again.

“I’m sorry, have we met before?” she asked. Dick made sure his expression was perfect before he turned around to address her.

“No, I don’t think we have,” he replied. “I just have that kind of face.”

“Do you go to Gotham Academy by any chance?”

“I used to a long time ago,” Dick replied. “Had to leave. Family issues.”

“I know the feeling,” Artemis said quietly, before collecting herself. “Sorry, I should let you go. It was nice meeting you…” She left the sentence hanging, waiting for a name.

“Dan,” Dick replied.

“I’m Artemis.”

“Nice meeting you, Artemis.” Dick made a performance of looking at his watch. “I really need to go. Dad gets grumpy if I’m home late.” He made a quick getaway before he could make an idiot out of himself any further. He had to stop himself from running all the way to his hideout, already making plans to scope out a new base and get out of the area as fast as possible. He couldn’t believe he had made such a stupid, rookie mistake. At least he’d had the forethought to wear his contacts today.

Dick let himself into his basement apartment, locked the door and threw himself into the chair in front of the television. His hands were shaking as he turned it on. He almost considered taking the night off, but he had plans that he couldn’t back out of. He’d already been in touch with Mama Bear so she could make sure none of their associates were inside tonight’s target, a club owned by Black Mask.

Once he’d calmed himself down a little—Artemis hadn’t actually recognised him, after all—he got up and went to start dinner. He was too highly strung to take the much-needed nap he had planned on today. Hopefully he could stretch it just one more day without his body giving out on him. He left the TV blaring in the other room so he could listen to the news while he completed the utterly strenuous task of making ramen noodles while continuing to convince himself that he hadn’t blown his cover. Artemis been close to learning his identity before he died, but that didn’t mean she’d figured it out, although her presence at his civilian funeral was a cause for concern. But that didn’t matter anyway. He’d been gone for two years, he’d grown quite a lot and she’d have no reason to suspect he was alive when there had been a body to bury.

He’d start looking for new places tomorrow, he decided, carrying his bowl of noodles into the living room, but there really wasn’t anything to worry about.

The TV was playing a news segment about Batman and the new Robin breaking a people-smuggling ring. Dick had heard about it a month ago, but hadn’t wanted to show his hand at the time. Now that he thought about it, he should have just handled it himself and the whole thing would have been over weeks ago. Batman was too soft on the scum in this city. Dick knew better now. He’d swallowed the Bat’s “our path is the most difficult, but it is the right one” rhetoric for years. It had taken his own death for him to wake the hell up and smell the rot in this city. It wasn’t getting better. If anything, it was worse.

Dick slurped down his noodles in a fashion that would have horrified Alfred, turned off the TV when it started talking about the sports (if it wasn’t gymnastics, he no longer cared) and dumped his bowl and fork in the sink. He’d clean up later when he was done with his work for the evening. He gathered his materials from their hiding place in the bathroom medicine cupboard, disguised as various medications. He was down to his last batch, hence why he had put in an order for more.

Dick constructed his bomb. It was a black box with a small flare in the centre rigged to come alight when he pressed the detonation switch. He used small enough amounts of his ingredients that most, if not all, of them would be consumed in the explosion. He wasn’t stupid enough to assume Batman hadn’t been able to find trace amounts at previous sites, but the number of companies who manufactured the goods was large so it would take him time to narrow down the likely theft victims and find out about Red Hood’s inside men. Dick wasn’t too concerned for their safety; they were all criminals anyway who Red Hood was blackmailing with photographic evidence of their crimes. No real loss if they got caught, and all they knew of him was that he was the Red Hood.

In fact, Dick was counting on Batman finding out about the Red Hood for the next phase of his plan, which ran concurrently with the Black Mask phase. He didn’t plan on working in the shadows indefinitely, after all. All this posturing and threatening was just a stepping stone to the real game.

Dick fitted the chemicals into the box before finishing it all off with the flare and securing the lid on the box. He cleaned up the evidence and got out a small black backpack to hold the box. He washed up, packed his Red Hood gear in another bag and donned a busboy’s uniform that would allow him to slip into the service entry of the club unnoticed. There was going to be cart housing a rather large cake for the birthday of one of Black Mask’s lieutenants. The Black Mask himself wasn’t going to be in attendance due to his suspicion that large gatherings of his people would be an invitation for Batman or his rivals to bust the place up. If only the underlings who rolled their eyes at his paranoia knew just how right he was…

Everything was ready. Dick threw on a coat, scrounged up the cash, and headed out to hail a cab.

* * *

 

Batman was about to leave the Batcave when he caught an explosion of activity on the police scanner. He reached the smouldering remains of the club just as the police commissioner did. Batman swabbed the remnants of the cart from which the explosion had originated, just in case there were extra ingredients in the bomb that had been disintegrated in the previous explosions. Jason had thrown a small fit when Batman didn’t let him come out, so he wasn’t especially in the mood for this right now. He had gone through Wayne Enterprises and all the companies it had deals with and had found nothing out of the ordinary, which meant whoever was doing this had stuck to the companies outside Batman’s immediate reach. He couldn’t shake the feeling that whoever was behind these attacks knew who he was and to stay away from anything he touched.

“I’m not even going to ask,” said Commissioner Gordon. “We both know it’s the same guy.”

“Agreed.” Batman put his sample away.

“Please tell me you’ve had more luck finding out where this guy is getting his materials from than we have.”

“I’ve ruled out Wayne Enterprises and all affiliated companies,” Batman replied, stepping aside to let the investigators do their job. They were so used to his presence by now that they barely glanced in his direction.

“That’s something, I guess,” said the commissioner. “There aren’t many companies that aren’t affiliated with Wayne Enterprises in some way or another. I’ll inform my people so we can get to the bottom of this.” They moved out of the way for a crime scene photographer. “Robin still being difficult?”

“He’ll get better when we bring this killer to justice and I take him out on patrol again,” Batman said quietly, not wanting to share his problems with entirety of the police department. Commissioner Gordon was a friend and, therefore, an exception. He had cut Batman a lot of slack while he was still reeling in the aftermath of the first Robin’s death, and Batman still felt like he owed him for that.

“The kid’s impatient, but I suppose that’s to be expected at his age,” said the commissioner. “My Barbara’s always been a good girl, dedicated to her studies, but even at sixteen she can throw a tantrum with the best of ‘em. I don’t know how you do it, Batman.” The commissioner watched the medical teams arrive to transport the bodies to the morgue. “How do you juggle the Justice League, the junior team and still help us out here in Gotham without losing your mind?”

“Practice,” Batman said. He and the commissioner walked to the edge of the cordoned-off area, ducking under the crime scene tape. “I’ve been doing this a long time, Jim.”

“And I hope you’ll be doing this for even longer still.” The commissioner and Batman stopped at the edge of the street. “Let’s hope the next time we meet will be under less morbid circumstances.”

Batman gave the commissioner a nod before he shot his grapple line at the nearest building. While he was out, it was probably worth visiting a few of the chemical plants that had no connection to Wayne Enterprises and doing a little snooping. Maybe he’d swing by the Batcave and pick up Robin. It would do him some good to do a little legwork, see the less glamorous side of the job. The boy was mostly interested in the part where he got to beat up the bad guys. It was a phase most young heroes went through before they settled into their new lives a little. Dick’s phase hadn’t lasted quite as long as Jason’s, possibly because that hunger was largely sated by bringing his parents’ killer, Tony Zucco, to justice. He, like most heroes, had never lost the hunger entirely, but he was a lot more receptive to the investigative and research side of hero work than most. The boy had always been restless, in constant motion, but had often surprised Batman with his patience and focus at the most unexpected moments. He would have grown up to be a fine young man and hero if he had lived.

Jason was doing his homework on the floor of the Batcave when Batman arrived. “Changed your mind?” he asked.

“I was planning to search some chemical warehouses tonight,” Batman replied. “Hardly the most exciting of duties, but you’re welcome to come along. I can wait until you finish your homework.”

Jason groaned and laid his head on his book. “Go on without me.”

Batman folded himself onto the floor beside the boy, pulling off his cowl. “Don’t worry, I can save you.”

“It’s too late for me.”

“You’re acting like a speedster faced with the prospect of an empty fridge.” Bruce pulled Jason’s books from underneath his head. “Let’s see here…” It was math, one of Bruce’s stronger areas.

“I’m going to have to repeat seventh grade,” Jason muttered, sitting up now that his pillow was gone.

“No, you won’t.” Bruce grabbed a spare piece of paper. “I’ve tutored worse cases than you.”

“Liar. The only other kid you tutored was Dick.”

“Dick could barely read English when I first took him in,” Bruce said, reading through the equation Jason was having trouble with. “He was smart, just like you, but his academic knowledge was lacking because it wasn’t relevant for a circus performer.”

“Yeah, well, he ended up skipping a grade so he mustn’t have been that hard up. Wally told me the guy could do calculus _in his head_.”

“If you’ll stop complaining, I’ll teach you how to do this problem,” Bruce said, elbowing Jason. “Be good and we’ll bust up a bank robbery tomorrow night.”

Jason’s eyes lit up. “Okay, okay. I’ll shut up.”

Later that night, Batman and Robin snuck into the main warehouse for the largest company not affiliated with Wayne Enterprises. Robin kept a lookout while Batman hacked the supervisor’s computer. He had started teaching Robin hacking techniques, but he wasn’t yet ready to put them into practise in a real-life situation. Batman had scoffed at the previous Robin’s heavy use of macros to limit time wasted on repetitive tasks, preferring to do all the work by hand, but in times like these he almost wished he’d shelved his pride and taken the criticism. Robin had even offered to build personalised macros to suit Batman’s methods.

“Does it always take this long?” the current Robin complained from his post in the doorway.

“Be quiet unless you have something to report,” Batman said sternly. After what felt like an eternity, he finally got into the system. There had been a large number of of testing sample orders of the same chemical lately. It was one of the components he had managed to identify.

“Someone’s coming,” Robin said quickly. Batman shut everything down, gritting his teeth in frustration. He had been so close to getting the order details. He and Robin dived into the shadows.

The intruder was on the warehouse floor, near the stairs that would take him to the platform on which Batman and Robin stood. From what Batman could see of him in the dark, this was no night guard and therefore had no business being here at night long after working hours were over.

The half-shadowed figure frowned into the dark corner in which Batman and Robin hid, but seemed to look right through them. He turned around and started off towards the exit. Batman moved to intercept him, but the person rolled out of the way of his hands. By the time Batman corrected to avoid overbalancing, the trespasser had disappeared again. There was a soft beep.

“Batman.” Robin’s voice was urgent, strained. “We’ve got a bomb here. Thirty seconds.”

Batman let out a soft curse, grabbed Robin and raced for the exit, leaping into the harbour a mere ten feet away. Batman wrapped his sopping cape around Robin and put his head down on top of his. The explosion was deafening and heat seared the air above their heads. Robin clung tightly to Batman, his face buried in the man’s armoured chest. Batman just hoped that their position right next to the concrete wall would protect them from shrapnel. At least, with their position, he was able to shield Robin.

Finally, the heat subsided. Batman and Robin separated and swam for the ramp, Batman radioing emergency services to handle the remnants of the fire. There was no way he’d be getting his information from here. There were a few more warehouses he could look into, though, but this one had been the largest and most likely to hold the data Batman needed.

“My life flashed before my eyes,” Robin said quietly as they watched the warehouse burn. “It sucked.”

“We’ll make it better,” Batman promised, wringing out his cape. “Still up for the bank bust tomorrow?”

“You bet.”

* * *

 

Dick slumped in his chair, pulling off his ski mask, and turned on the television. Background noise helped him think, helped him silence the noise that lived inside his head. Blowing up that warehouse had been crude and messy, but he wasn’t quite ready for his plans to be revealed yet. He needed a bit more time to stir up Black Mask—another two targeted explosions and a few hits on his favourite dealers should do the trick—and then he would reveal himself as Red Hood to Batman and his new sidekick.

The encounter, although short, had given Dick some new information to ponder. Given the time Batman had taken to hack the computer, he still refused to use macros to speed up the process. Jason Todd also clearly wasn’t up to a good enough hacking standard for the Bat to trust him with it on missions. Todd was a decent lookout, though; Dick had expected to have to knock something over for the kid to notice him. He’d have to remember he was observant, not quite up to Batman’s standards but enough that Dick would have to take it into consideration while planning.

Dick rubbed his aching eyes. He was getting to the point where his body couldn’t take the constant awakeness anymore. He’d have to grit his teeth, go to bed and put up with the nightmares. He’d stretched himself as far as he could without compromising his already tenuous mental state. Even as he told himself this, however, he made no move to get up from his chair, instead staring dead-eyed at some late-night talk show with the typical leggy blonde celebrity guest. The volume was down the point it was almost muted, since it was well after midnight and there were other tenants in the building, most of whom worked horrific hours in multiple minimum wage jobs just to get by. Dick helped some of them make ends meet sometimes when he could spare the cash. He felt a small twinge of guilt about blowing up that warehouse. The thought of how many people he had just put out of work made him nauseous, but be clamped down on the feeling before the guilt could consume him. It had been necessary.

The TV turned to static. Dick got up and thumped it a few times, giving up when it showed no improvement. Taking it as a sign to go to bed, he turned off the TV and headed in the direction of his bedroom, shedding his clothes on the way. There’d be time to plan later. Right now, he needed to overcome his fears and face the nightmares that were barely kept at bay even during his waking hours.


	6. The Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite the League showing concern for his well-being, Batman continues his investigation while Dick deals with the consequences of his encounter with Artemis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little adaptation from Batman: Under the Red Hood for the second half of the chapter or so.

Two more criminal hideouts had been blown up and Batman was losing his patience. Being called to a League meeting while he was in the middle of dealing with the situation did not help his mood at all.

“This better be important,” he told Superman irritably, having just materialised in the Watchtower.

“It is, I promise,” Superman assured him. They entered the meeting chamber, where only a handful of the League members sat. Green Arrow, Black Canary, the Flash, Wonder Woman and the Martian Manhunter waited as Superman and Batman took their seats.

“We need to talk about the situation in Gotham,” Wonder Woman said.

Batman would have raised his eyebrow if it wasn’t covered by his cowl. “I’m working on it.”

“We understand that,” Black Canary said in her soothing therapist voice that always had the opposite effect on Batman. “We’re just… concerned.”

“It’s no secret you took Dick’s death pretty hard,” said the Flash. “We all did.”

“I’m not convinced the Team has recovered yet,” Black Canary added, now in full therapist mode. “I’d say the same of you, Bruce.”

Batman fixed her with one of his medium-strength glares, enough to show she was on dangerous ground. “Do you have a point?”

“Given the circumstances of Richard’s demise,” said the Martian Manhunter, “we thought it would perhaps be prudent to allow another Leaguer—”

“No,” Batman said immediately. “I was in the middle of pursuing a lead when your summons interrupted me. I am perfectly capable of handling this situation. This is detective work, not something you can punch to make it go away.”

“And what of Jason?” asked Black Canary. “Has he been present at—?”

“I’ve kept him away from the crime scenes,” said Batman. “He’s not ready for that. I have only taken him with me during other parts of the investigation.” He got up. “I need to return to Gotham.”

Superman grabbed his arm. “Bruce…”

“Let him go, Clark,” said Green Arrow. “If you need backup, Bruce, let me know. I know you don’t like letting superpowered heroes into the city, but Artemis and I would be happy to help out.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Batman pulled his arm out of Superman’s slackened grip and made for the door. “I assume that’s all?”

“For now.” Wonder Woman’s tone was ominous. She’d rip into him for his behaviour later. Batman chose to ignore the implied threat. He was too busy to worry about his allies when somebody was turning Gotham into a crater one building at a time.

He stopped by Mount Justice to pick up Robin. The Team was watching television together in the living room. Robin, as per usual, ended up in the periphery while Wally hovered between him and the group, uncomfortable in no-man’s land. It was still a strange sight, since Wally had once always been in the middle of things.

“Hey, Batman,” Wally said, being the first to notice his presence in the doorway. “How’s the case going?”

“We’re getting there,” Batman said. “Let’s go, Robin. We have work to do.”

“Good luck,” Wally called after them. He had been disturbingly well-informed in Gotham’s ever-shifting situation over the last three months. Batman often wondered why he had taken such a sudden interest in the city.

“It’s not dark yet,” Jason said as they arrived at the Batcave, pulling off his mask.

“I know. I have research to do and you have homework. We’re not leaving until we’re both finished.”

Jason grumbled under his breath as he headed upstairs to get his books. Batman settled himself in front of the batcomputer. He had salvaged some data from another warehouse where the computer had been clumsily sabotaged. It seemed a bit too easy to him, but he wasn’t about to complain. He had already checked the data for malicious software and found nothing. While Jason worked on his homework, swearing under his breath, Batman did his best to reconstruct the fragments of data. There was no guarantee that the information he was looking for was still intact, but it didn’t hurt to look.

Jason finished his homework before Batman finished his. Jason watched over Batman’s shoulder while he kept working.

“What are you looking for?”

“Before we nearly got blown up in that warehouse,” Batman said, “I discovered the company had been ordering a high number of testing samples for a one of the chemicals. If my hunch is correct…” He finally found the data he was looking for. “And it is. This company has been ordering high numbers of testing samples of another chemical present in the explosives. Possible explanations?”

“Inside job?” Jason suggested. “Or maybe a really good hacker.”

“I suspect both,” said Batman. “No thefts have been reported, not even internally. The company might not know about this.”

“So, what do we do?”

“We find the inside man, or men.”

“Or woman. Or women.”

“That’ll do.” Batman shut off the computer. “We have time for dinner before we head out. I already informed Alfred.”

“Normal dinnertime. That’s new.” Jason let out a huge yawn.

“I can go out alone if you need more sleep,” Batman offered.

“No,” Jason said quickly. “I’m fine.”

Batman gave him a sceptical look. “If you say so. Go wash up. I’ll be along soon.”

* * *

 

After another long day of alternating between hacking and schoolwork, Dick Grayson handed his borrowed laptop back to the service desk. This would be his last time at this library and his last orders of the explosive chemicals. The game was about to escalate. In preparation, he’d been working on a variation of the explosive birdarangs he’d used as Robin, working with more stable and compact materials. In addition to his smoke bombs, they would serve as extra insurance if he needed to make a quick getaway at any point. Going head-to-head with Batman wasn’t going to be easy, but he needed to make his presence known for his plans to work. Black Mask would be nice and riled by now. A few more hits on his people, maybe one more bombing, would put sufficient pressure on him to force his hand.

“I hear you’re going by Dan these days,” someone said behind him. Dick whipped around to find Wally standing behind him.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. He didn’t have time for this. He still had to go home, have dinner and prepare for a long night with the Bat.

“I caught up with Artemis,” Wally replied. “She said she saw a guy calling himself Dan who reminded her of a certain mutual friend. I would’ve come sooner, but the Team got put on a… job without any warning and I never got the chance.” He put his arm around Dick’s shoulders and steered him out of the library. “Nice contacts, by the way.”

“Where are we going?”

“Do you have a place nearby?”

“Maybe, but I’m not taking you there.”

“Aww, why not?”

“Because I don’t take anyone.” Dick ducked out from beneath Wally’s arm. “There are other places we can talk in private if you’re so desperate, but I can’t stay long.”

“Why not?” Wally asked again.

“Because I’m on a tight schedule.” Dick led Wally into an alley, grabbed out the grapple line he always kept on his person and shot it onto the roof. He grabbed Wally around the waist, pressed a button on the dispenser and let it pull them up. He dragged Wally into a small area between the ventilation system and the walls that existed solely for the emergency exit door. The space was only two feet wide at best, but it was fairly secluded. The sun was still setting; Batman and Robin wouldn’t be out yet.

“You look better,” Wally said, leaning against the vent. “More ‘axe murderer’ than ‘dead guy.’ I still prefer your old look, the—”

“Can we cut the small talk?” Dick interrupted. “I wasn’t joking when I said I’m on a tight schedule.”

“Okay, fine.” Wally looked a bit annoyed by Dick’s abruptness. “Shit’s going down in Gotham and I was worried about you, okay? I haven’t told anyone about you because I promised I wouldn’t, but I’m really starting to regret it.”

“I can take care of myself, Wally.” The name felt strange in Dick’s mouth after so long, like his tongue had forgotten how to make the sound. “It isn’t permanent, I promise. I’ll tell Batman when I’m ready.”

“And when will that be?”

“Soon. I just have a few more things to do.”

“What kind of things?” Wally asked suspiciously.

“Do you really think I’m going to tell you?” Dick regretted the harshness of his voice the instant the words were out of his mouth.

“I was hoping you’d value our friendship enough to tell me what’s going on with you,” Wally said irritably. “Something’s not right. Something wasn’t right the last time we met, either. What the hell happened to you, Dick?” He grabbed Dick by the shoulders and shook him slightly. “Why won’t you let me help?”

Dick glared at Wally until he removed his hands. “I don’t want you getting involved. It has nothing to do with you.”

“So that’s it? You’re just going to shut me out?” Wally’s voice was getting louder and Dick was starting to worry people would hear him. “These last two years have been _hell_ , Dick. Everything just fell apart and it won’t go back together again.”

“Keep your voice down,” Dick snapped, fighting the ache in his chest at Wally’s words. He didn’t have time for this kind of weakness. He had spent these past two years training his body and mind, exorcising everything that made him weak, rebuilding himself from the scattered ashes of his old life. He wasn’t about to let Wally of all people destroy that. He needed his strength. He would fall to pieces without it.

“That’s all you have to say?” Wally did lower his voice, but it was somehow worse than when he was practically shouting. He sounded so broken and it took every ounce of Dick’s willpower not to close the distance between them and hold him until the pain went away. The fact that Wally had so much power over him, even after they’d barely even seen each other in over two years, made him tremble with rage.

“What do you want me to say? ‘Sorry for dying?’ It’s not like I _wanted_ that to happen.” Now Dick was struggling to control his voice. He balled his shaking hands into fists. “It’s not like I could’ve turned around and politely asked the Joker if he’d please stop beating me half to death with his crowbar. It’s not like I could ask his bomb to stop counting down while I tried to get the door open when half the bones in my body were broken and I couldn’t breathe.” He had to take a deep breath to stop himself from shouting, but couldn’t get enough air. “I didn’t ask for this!”

“That’s—that’s not…” Wally trailed off, staring down at the concrete beneath his feet.

“I need to go.” Dick started to walk out into the orange sunlight, but Wally grabbed him.

“No,” he said. “Not like this. Please, Dick. Please…” Wally pulled him back to him. “I don’t know when I’ll see you again, or what state you’ll be in when I do. Please, just look after yourself.”

“You too,” Dick murmured, feeling more and more off-balance with every moment he stood there. Wally was begging, and it threatened to tear his insides apart.

Then Wally did something strange; he touched Dick’s cheek, their eyes locking, green on blue. “The next time I see you better not be in a fucking casket, Dick,” he said softly, his thumb trailing along Dick’s cheekbone.

Dick took a step back. “We’ll see.” Then he fled before Wally could get another word in, blending into the crowd on the street below. He still had time, he assured himself.

He couldn’t even remember the trip to the apartment complex, or turning the key in his lock. The next thing he knew, he was standing in the kitchen, watching a bowl of instant mac and cheese rotate in the microwave. Dick braced his hands against the counter, locking his elbows, and stared at his fingernails, ragged from chewing. That conversation with Wally had rubbed something raw inside him and he needed to fix it before he went out tonight or all his plans would fall apart the instant he clashed with Batman.

Dick closed his eyes and concentrated on deep, even breaths. Soon, he would not be Dick Grayson; he would be Red Hood, somebody who got things done regardless of the consequences, somebody who made plans and stuck to them, somebody willing to make sacrifices when needed. He was everything Batman couldn’t be, everything that Batman’s honour code would not allow him to be.

By the time the microwave rang at him, he felt much calmer, but it was only once he was curled up in front of the television with the steaming bowl cradled in his hands that he truly felt like he could do this. Wally was not his problem right now. He couldn’t let Wally’s emotions poke holes in the armour he’d spent years building piece-by-piece. There would be time to sort Wally out later, perhaps, if his Plan A panned out. Plan B or C, however, didn’t really allow for that since Dick would probably not survive them. He desperately wanted Plan A to work, but that didn’t mean he would be unwilling to resort to his contingencies if necessary. It ultimately depended on Batman.

Dick finished his dinner and prepared for the night, finally feeling calm and ready. Let the games begin.

* * *

 

Batman and Robin were perched on a roof near a warehouse that was expecting a chemical sample delivery. Batman suspected a portion of the shipment would be removed without the rest of the staff knowing after the delivery was complete. He still wasn’t clear on how the missing product was not noticed, but he suspected the hacker had been able to tweak the order coding so extra product was shipped but not documented. If this person wasn’t causing so many deaths, Batman might have been interested in talking shop with them, picking up a few tricks.

“Keeping a safe distance this time?”

Batman and Robin whipped around, arming themselves. Somebody was leaning against the emergency exit door, watching them. His face was hidden by the red hood over his head and a pair of pistols sat secure in the holsters on his hips. By the sound of his voice, Batman judged him to be quite young, possibly even still a teenager. Not what he had expected at all.

“That’s him,” Robin said sharply. “That’s the guy who tried to blow us up.”

The newcomer held his arms up in a fake gesture of surrender. “Guilty as charged.”

“Are you going to try and stop us again?” Robin asked, making a threatening step towards the other boy. Batman held him back before he could make the situation worse.

“Wasn’t planning to.” The young man didn’t look concerned by Robin’s aggression. “You should lay off the coffee, kid. Not good for your heart. Try tea instead, or elephant tranquilisers.”

Batman had the strangest feeling he knew this person. “Have we met before?”

“Maybe.” The young man pulled back his hood. “Or maybe I just have that kind of face.” Beneath his hood, the guy wore a sleek red helmet. It was well-crafted, probably expensive, and quite an obvious play on one of the Joker’s old aliases: Red Hood. Whoever this person was either had access to a lot of money, or had been working at this for a long enough time to gather the cash together for a custom-made helmet that covered his face and contained similar eye lenses to Batman and Robin’s masks. In addition to finances, he had a strong knowledge of Gotham criminals, which was to be expected if he was the same person bombing the criminal hideouts.

“I’m not sure the Joker will be pleased to hear somebody’s stealing his old aliases,” Batman said.

“You catch on quick.” The young man gave a mock bow, complete with an elaborate hand gesture. “And, yes, I will answer to Red Hood.”

“Okay, _Red Hood_.” Robin snorted. “Can’t even think of your own identity.”

“Says the replacement Boy Wonder.” Red Hood didn’t wait for Robin’s response before he addressed Batman. “I’m a bit surprised you brought the kid along after he nearly got blown up. Going for a matched set, Batman?”

“Robin,” Batman said quietly, struggling to contain the anger rising in his throat. “Keep watch on the other side of the warehouse. Red Hood and I need to talk. Privately.”

“But—”

“Go.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” Robin took one fearful look at Batman’s expression before pulling out his grapple dispenser and rooftop-hopping out of sight.

“It appears I struck a nerve,” Red Hood said dryly. Batman grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall. “Ooh, I _really_ struck a nerve.”

“I don’t have time to be disrespected by some little asshole with delusions of grandeur,” Batman growled. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving you time,” Red Hood replied best he could through Batman’s tight hold in his throat, utterly unfazed by his sudden, violent change in demeanour. “You wanna know who’s bombing the scums’ hideouts?” Batman loosened his grip.

“Damn right I do.”

Red Hood ducked out of his slackened grip. “Then you’ll have to catch me first. Send the kid home; he’ll only slow you down.” He ran to the edge of the roof and leapt across to the next. Batman gave chase, radioing Robin at the same time.

“Hold your position,” he said. “Red Hood’s making me chase him.”

“I can help.”

“No.” Batman pulled out his grapple dispenser and shot it at a nearby high-rise to gain the high ground over his quarry. “I need to know how the product gets to the bomber. Stay put.” While he was in the midst of swinging, he found Red Hood again. The guy was racing along the lower rooftops, leaping between them without any hesitation. He was well-trained, but by whom it was hard to say. He was strangely graceful and the aerial somersaults he used to propel himself across larger distances reminded Batman painfully of the first Robin.

Batman released his grapple line and landed on the nearest rooftop. The instant his feet hit solid concrete, he was off running in parallel to Red Hood, who offered him a mock salute as he picked up speed.

“The delivery’s been made,” Robin said over the com. “Someone took one of the containers and walked off with it. I’ve taken a picture of him. Should I pursue?”

“No,” Batman said, shooting another grapple line so he could swing around a high-rise carpark. “Go wait in the car.”

“Need backup? I can call my motorcycle and catch up.”

“No. _Wait in the car_.” Batman released the grapple line and dropped down a few feet behind Red Hood.

Robin sighed. “Fine.” He cut the signal.

Red Hood had surged ahead again. He was fit and, it seemed, faster than Batman. Batman breathed from his core, pushing himself faster. His need for the grapple line was largely responsible for why he hadn’t caught his quarry yet. While he did have acrobatic training, the Red Hood was in a different class entirely. Still, this was Batman’s city and he had been training for these kinds of situations for a very long time. He was confident his endurance would win out over Red Hood’s sprinting pace in the end. The grapple line gave him a chance to catch his breath before continuing the chase on foot.

They ended up on a long stretch of flat roof, Batman still in hot pursuit. Robin swooped down next to him, scurrying to match his pace.

“You can yell at me later,” he said quickly. “Let’s nab this guy.” Batman was too focused on the chase to do more than throw Robin the quickest Batglare in history.

Red Hood leapt off the edge of the building. Batman shot out his grapple line, hoping to snare the kid’s leg and be done with this waste of time, but Red Hood twisted in mid-air, bringing his knees up to his chest, and avoided the line completely. He landed on the next roof below with several forward rolls before picking himself up and continuing to run.

“Wow,” Robin said as he and Batman used their grapples to follow the descent. “That… wow.”

“We’ll discuss it later.” Batman landed on the roof first, not bothering to wait for Robin to catch up. He couldn’t afford to waste time. Robin was back at his heels in an instant. Batman doubted he’d be able to keep up for much longer; he hadn’t been training for long enough.

They were headed towards the glass roof of the train station. Red Hood dived out of sight. By the time Batman and Robin reached the edge of their roof, he was already racing across the glass below. It wasn’t that far a drop, so Batman and Robin simply leapt the distance. The glass groaned under the weight of Batman’s impact, but held.

“Nice try.” Red Hood was standing a few feet away, holding something in his fist that Batman couldn’t quite see. “I’d love to stay and chat, but—” He threw whatever he was holding, which exploded upon impact with the roof, sending everybody falling through the shattered glass. Batman stuck the landing; Robin didn’t.

Red Hood recovered first, picking himself up. He was standing between the two tracks while a train loomed closer. “You haven’t lost your touch—” The rest of his sentence was cut off by the train zooming in front of him. By the time the train passed, he was gone.

Batman turned his attention to Robin, who was lying on his side, holding his leg. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Robin said through gritted teeth. “Just landed funny.” He sat up, letting out a soft curse.

“Let’s go home.” Batman picked him up, cradling him carefully in his arms. “We have a lot to think about.” He carried Robin out of the train station, ignoring the boy’s demands to be put down.

* * *

 

Dick jogged all the way back to his apartment, his helmet safely collapsed and stashed in his back pocket. The adrenaline from the chase still sang in his veins and, for the first time in a while, he felt truly alive. It had gone perfectly, just perfectly. Just a little taste to whet Batman’s appetite, get him thinking. The chase had given Dick plenty to think about, too.

He let himself into his apartment, waving at his upstairs neighbour, Sam, who was heading out for his second job. Instead of flopping into his chair in front of the TV like he usually would, Dick paced in the small space. The adrenaline left him too restless to sit down. He felt wide awake, pleasantly wired. His head was clear in a way it hadn’t been in years, despite the number of mental exercises, distractions and drugs he had tried to fix it. Who would have known that the thing that made him feel the sanest was a little clash with his former boss and his own replacement?

Now was the best time to think, to plan, while his head was nice and quiet and uncluttered. He’d always worked best with a clean desk, both physical and metaphorical, a place for everything and everything in its place. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy chaos—he relished it, really—but he didn’t appreciate his own private workspace becoming a mess. It made concentration a constant exercise in frustration.

Dick stepped around a box on the floor; he’d spent a bit of time packing earlier in the day in preparation for his move tomorrow. He’d finally found a decent place still close to the action, and the landlord accepted cash and didn’t ask for ID. Perfect. It was a step up from this place, but he’d still miss the cosiness here, the friendliness of the people. While he’d never really needed help himself, it was still nice watching everyone help each other out. The people here had reignited his hope in humanity and, more specifically, Gotham time and time again when he felt ready to just throw in the towel and give up on trying to save the city from itself.

“Focus,” he muttered to himself, reframing his thoughts around tonight’s encounter. The new Robin was impulsive and had no qualms about disobeying direct orders. That sort of behaviour was to be expected in an inexperienced sidekick. His powers of observation, however, were even stronger than Dick had anticipated. Their last encounter had occurred in semi-darkness and a different disguise, yet he was able to identify him as the same guy, despite the stress of almost getting blown up having likely affected his memory of that night.

Physically speaking, the new Robin was obviously not a gymnast. This was made clear by his poor landing in the train station. Dick hadn’t meant to hurt the kid, but at least he would hopefully be out of commission for a while so Dick wouldn’t have to worry about fighting him with kid gloves on or keeping him out of danger. His plans were between him and Batman; the kid had nothing to do with them. He was just an extraneous player. Robin’s injury would probably protect him in the long run. Dick wished no ill-will upon his replacement and didn’t want to put Batman through losing another sidekick. Speaking of which, he hadn’t expected that matched set comment to strike as hard as it had. The borderline chokehold had been unanticipated, but Dick had always been an excellent improviser. He’d obviously underestimated Batman’s anger over his death, not that he didn’t have plenty of reason with the Joker still being alive and all.

Dick pushed that thought away before he made himself angry. He needed to stay calm. He could always get angry later. There was plenty of time for that, even within his own plans, once all the setup had been completed and the end-game began. Until then, he had to master himself, take control.

He expected Batman and Robin would have returned home by now. Alfred was probably tending to Robin’s leg while Batman downloaded the recorded footage from the cameras installed in his cowl. Dick remembered working with his former mentor on those cameras, making them as small and non-invasive as possible while retaining their strength and quality. His old domino mask housed the same technology. Batman had probably gotten a front-row seat to an action replay of his death if the cameras hadn’t been irreparably damaged in the explosion. He filed that away for later consideration.

Dick was starting to come down from his high. He stopped pacing and collapsed into his chair, suddenly worn out. Maybe he could catch a few hours’ sleep before the noise and nightmares crept back in.

* * *

 

Jason, having changed back into his civilian clothes, watched Bruce tap away at the batcomputer while he sat on a wheeled bed, Alfred strapping up his knee. “Still giving me the silent treatment, Bruce?”

“I’m working.” Now that Jason was out of danger, irritation had won out over concern. “We will discuss your disobedience later.” The camera footage from his cowl finished downloading. Bruce skipped through the footage until he reached eight pm, the approximate time when Red Hood had shown up.

Alfred finished tending to Jason’s leg. “Keep off that leg as much as possible, Master Jason.”

“Sure thing, Alfred.” Jason had always been more likely to listen to Alfred than to Bruce, who tried not to take it personally. It hadn’t escaped his notice that parenting came easier to Alfred. It always had. Bruce tried with Jason, he really did, but sometimes he found it difficult to look at the boy without thinking of Dick. Thinking of Dick was a dangerous exercise, even at the best of times, and it was happening with increasing regularity of late.

Alfred came to stand by Bruce’s chair. “May I inquire as to the events of tonight that left Master Jason with a sprained knee?”

“You may.” Bruce sped up the footage until it reached the point where Red Hood revealed his mask. “We ran into a guy calling himself the ‘Red Hood’, one of the Joker’s old aliases. He offered to tell us who was behind the bombings if we could catch him. When we caught up with him on the train station roof, he detonated a small explosive that broke the glass. That’s when Jason was injured.”

“I’m sorry,” Jason said quietly. “I wasn’t quick enough.”

“Red Hood’s intent was to disorient us, not kill us,” Bruce told him. “We’ll need to practise your fall management in case this happens again.” He turned back to the computer, checking the footage for a good angle for a screencap. “I suspect this Red Hood is our bomber.”

“But he’s a teenager,” said Jason. “The explosions were controlled. Most teenagers don’t have that kind of training.”

“Most, certainly,” said Alfred. “However, I can think of a few who do.”

“Artemis and Roy have used explosive arrows before, but neither fit this person’s physique,” Bruce said.

“You’ve been training me how to handle explosives, too,” said Jason. “But I’m too short and, besides, I was right there.”

“Perhaps your villainous counterparts are also training young protégés, sir?” Alfred suggested.

Bruce rubbed a spot above his right eyebrow, which was beginning to ache. “God, I hope not. It’s a possibility we can pursue. Whoever this person is, he’s a trained acrobat as well as an explosives expert, possibly a skilled hacker if he is supplying himself.” Bruce found the footage of Red Hood twisting away from his grapple line.

“That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever seen,” Jason said, limping over to the batcomputer. “I mean, look at that! He freaking twirled right out of the way _in mid-air_ and still managed to land it. You don’t just _do_ that. I bet you couldn’t even—”

“Yes, thank you, Jason,” Bruce interrupted.

“Ooh, did I strike a nerve?”

_“It appears I struck a nerve,” Red Hood said dryly. Batman grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall. “Ooh, I_ really _struck a nerve.”_

Bruce took a deep breath so he wouldn’t shout at the boy, who had done nothing to deserve it. “Alfred, please take Jason upstairs.”

“Right away, sir.”

As soon as they were gone, Bruce pressed his palms against his eyes until he saw spots of light. He knew better than to let criminals inside his head. Why had Red Hood managed it? Over the course of the last two years, practically every criminal in Gotham had tried the dead Robin card. Only the Joker had ever gotten a real rise out of Batman, and that had been right after the boy’s death. It hadn’t taken much to short out his temper back then. Even Alfred had walked on eggshells for a while.

“Master Bruce?” Alfred had returned. “Are you all right?”

Bruce sighed, dropping his hands to the keyboard. “I’m not sure, Alfred.” He started sorting through the footage for good quality screencaps again to give himself something to do. Confessions always came easier when he didn’t have to make eye contact. “Dick’s been on my mind a lot lately.”

“I can see how that may have occurred, given the nature of this case.”

“You and the League think alike,” Bruce muttered.

“I will take that as a compliment, sir.” Alfred and Bruce rarely shared physical affection, so the hand he put on Bruce’s shoulder was largely akin to a bear hug.

“I’ll visit the Joker in Arkham tomorrow night,” Bruce said, saving the screencaps he’d chosen. “He hasn’t escaped since I put him there last time, but we both know he’s capable of influencing the world outside his cell. If he knows something about this boy, I’ll find out.”

“Very well. Do take care, sir.” Bruce didn’t miss the hint of concern in the butler’s voice.


	7. Gullible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of his conversation with Wally, Dick moves out of his apartment. Batman seeks answers to his questions about the Red Hood by visiting the Joker in Arkham Asylum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Batman's interrogation of the Joker is *very* loosely based on its counterpart in "Batman: Under the Red Hood". The dialogue is largely mine, with the exception of the first half of the Joker's Maître D comment.

Everything was ready. Dick had thrown out all unnecessary items and boxed everything else. His Red Hood costume was buried safely at the bottom of the box holding the clothes Wally had given him months ago. He’d gone through the apartment three times, making sure he left nothing behind that could raise questions with the landlord; he wasn’t quite so concerned about Batman. He figured the pill bottles looked innocuous enough from their place in the trashcan. If Batman were to find this place and test the bottles’ vestigial contents, it would merely confirm that Dick used to live here.

Dick sorted through the boxes one last time, making sure the cash that wasn’t on his person was hidden enough that nobody would notice it if he had to leave it unattended. A few extra bills sat on the coffee table. Dick had calculated that, with the money he was due to receive from the dealers tomorrow, he could get by without them. Sam was waiting outside the door to help him take his boxes to the taxi. Dick would find a way to slip the cash into his pocket before they parted ways.

Having dawdled enough, Dick taped the boxes shut. He only had three. It was a funny feeling, that his life could fit into three little boxes. Dick could have carried them himself, but Sam had insisted on helping out. Shoving the money from the coffee table into his back pocket, Dick opened the door and let him in.

“Ready to go, Dan?” Sam asked.

“Yep.” Dick picked up the nearest box and passed it to Sam. “All ready.” He stacked the other two boxes on top of each other and balanced them in his arms.

“I can take another box if you want.”

“Nah, I’ve got it, thanks.” Dick and Sam left the apartment, Dick pausing to shut and lock the door for the last time. He took a quick detour to drop the keys onto the landlord’s desk—the landlord himself was up a few floors, informing the tenants that their rent for the month had already been paid by an anonymous benefactor. Dick had had a lot of cash to spare, but he knew a lot of his fellow tenants were too proud to accept charity. It was easier for everyone if his contribution was kept anonymous.

“Thanks for helping me out,” Dick said while he and Sam carried the boxes down the stairs outside the apartment complex.

“Least I could do.” Sam opened the yellow taxi’s back door and slid the box inside. “I owe you for watching Lisa when I couldn’t get a babysitter.”

“It was no trouble.” Dick slid his boxes into the taxi. “I know it must be hard finding people to watch her. Most babysitters aren’t prepared to deal with Leukaemia.”

“Still, thanks.” Sam lifted his arm as if he was about to pat Dick on the shoulder, but thought better of it. “It’s a shame you have to go. We’re going to miss you.”

Dick shrugged. “I have to move on. One of my old friends managed to track me down the other day. As much as I trust him on a personal level, he doesn’t understand why I want to keep off the grid.”

“Well, you’ve got my number,” said Sam. “If you ever need help, don’t be afraid to call.”

“Thanks.” Dick made a silent promise never to do that. His problems weren’t exactly the kind a civilian could fix. Even if he _could_ help, there was no way Dick was going to drag him into this mess. He had a little girl to think about.

“Take care of yourself,” Sam said, drawing Dick into a quick hug. Dick had to quash his instinct to dropkick him across the street, instead taking the opportunity to slip the money into Sam’s jacket pocket.

“You too,” he said as they separated. The taxi driver honked impatiently. “I better go.” He hopped into the backseat with his boxes. Sam closed the door for him and they waved to each other as the taxi drove Dick away.

Once the taxi had driven around the corner, removing Sam from view, Dick’s smile fell off his face. He’d done everything he could to make sure his now ex-neighbours would be okay for the time being, but he still felt a sense of loss. He had become a lot more attached to those people than he’d thought. That wasn’t a good thing, not for Dick. He didn’t have room in his thoughts to worry about his old neighbours on top of his plans, Batman, Robin… and Wally.

Dick pulled the sleeves of his sunny yellow hoodie over his hands to combat the cold. This hoodie had been Wally’s. Dick had taken to wearing it a lot more than the clothes he had purchased himself. It was a little big for him—he had to roll up the sleeves to use his hands—but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to part with it. Wally had worn it the day Dick told him his name.

No matter how hard he tried, Dick had been unable to completely break himself off from his old life. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to anymore. Wally had complicated things, and Dick couldn’t help but resent him a little for that.

* * *

 

“You sure you want to do this, Batman?” asked Commissioner Gordon. He and Batman were standing in the visitors’ area of Arkham Asylum that evening, a world of dull colours and mould clinging to the corners. “I can interrogate—”

“ _I_ will interrogate him,” Batman said firmly. One of the main reasons why Batman had chosen to go through the official channels to establish a meeting with the Joker was to keep him accountable, which would hopefully stop him from snapping the bastard’s neck in half.

“If you insist.” The commissioner didn’t look especially happy with the idea. “We’ll be right outside.”

Batman followed the Arkham guards down the hall. He could already hear the Joker’s uncontrollable cackling and the sound made his gut twist. It must have been one of the last things Dick heard. Batman pushed that thought away and locked it in the furthest reaches of his mind. This interrogation was going to be difficult enough without Dick fresh on his mind. The Joker would be fishing for weak spots. He couldn’t let the Joker get inside his head, not this time.

One of the guards opened the heavy metal door, stepping aside to let Batman in. The guy was bold enough to make eye contact; most of the Arkham staff tended to avoid Batman whenever possible. He had to appreciate the man’s bravery. He was relatively young, but if he kept his cool in the presence of Batman, there was a good chance he’d do well at Arkham.

The door shut behind him, leaving Batman alone with the Joker, who was seated at a metal table with his hands cuffed in front of him. He gave Batman his typical broad grin. The two years in Arkham hadn’t changed him a bit, except for the featureless white jumpsuit. Straitjackets had recently gone out of fashion here, even though most people would agree the Joker was certainly the straitjacket type.

“Hello, Batsy. Did you miss me?”

Batman seated himself opposite the Joker, dropping his manila folder onto the table. “No.” He opened the folder and tossed a small stack of photographs on the table right in front of the Joker.

“Ooh, what’s this? A present?” The Joker sorted through the pictures. “Oh, you shouldn’t have.”

“He calls himself the Red Hood,” Batman said, ignoring the Joker’s babbling.

The Joker gave a dramatic sigh. “People these days. No appreciation for originality. _My_ Red Hood look was more of a flashy Maître D rather than—what is this? Punk kid? Gangbanger? I don’t even know what the kid’s trying to do here.” The Joker shoved the photos back in Batman’s direction. “You see, this is what happens when I take a vacation. People start getting lazy.”

Batman gathered the photos back into the folder, watching the Joker warily.

“Except you, of course,” the Joker continued, even going as far to pat Batman’s hand. “I even heard you got yourself a new partner.” He let out a quick giggle. “Didn’t take you long, did it?”

“Stay on topic,” Batman said, keeping his voice under control. “We have a new Red Hood on the streets who may be responsible for a number of bombings against well-known criminal hideouts.”

“Don’t look at me,” the Joker said, lifting his hands defensively. “I may be crazy, but I’m not stupid. What’s the new kid like, huh? Where’d you find him? Did he fall from the nest?”

“So, you have no knowledge of this new Red Hood,” Batman said, phrasing it half as a question and half as a statement. He was not going to discuss Robin right now, especially not to the person who killed the first one.

“Only what you’ve told me,” the Joker replied. “Now, since I’ve been good, how about you throw me a bone? Is your new Robin an acrobat, too? Can he fly?”

“We’re done here.” Batman got up, the folder held tightly in his hand. As he made for the door, the Joker spoke again.

“I can’t wait to meet him. I wonder if his birdsong will be as beautiful as his predecessor’s. Robin Number One sang quietly, of course, but it was such a sweet song. Ah, I miss it.”

Batman paused, his fist in the air, about to knock on the door to signal the guards to let him out. He would not take the bait. He’d brought the police with him for this exact reason. He would not rise.

“I’ll give Robin Number Two back to you when I’m done with him, of course. Piece by piece.” The Joker paused, obviously thinking. “Do you have a mailing address, or should I just send them care of Gotham PD?”

Batman slowly placed the folder back on the table. “Try it, and the only person who will be in pieces is you.” He strode around the table, coming to a stop behind the Joker’s seat.

“Oh, you and your threats,” the Joker said affectionately. “Do you remember that night, the one when you nearly followed through on them?” He let out a nostalgic sigh. “I was _just_ in the middle of telling you how your little Robin cried while I beat him, when BAM!” He slammed the table. “You _really_ cut loose. I hadn’t even used up all my material. I was so proud.” He tilted his head back to meet Batman’s eyes, grinning even bigger than usual. “You wanna hear the rest of the story? I’ve been waiting here, all alone, for you to come back so I could finish.”

“No.” Batman forced his feet to move. He had barely made two steps before the Joker started talking again anyway.

“He was so convinced you’d come save him, you know.”

Batman froze, his resolve melting away. Even in the end, Dick had had faith in him. And Batman had failed him.

“He did eventually realise you wouldn’t make it in time,” the Joker continued. “Started going on about you and his friends coming after me for revenge. He was surprisingly chatty for a kid with a collapsed lung. I don’t think he was even afraid.” The Joker was starting to sound more and more lucid, which disturbed Batman even further. “Even when the tears were streaming down his face, he was able to get enough breath to say _fuck you_. You would’ve been so proud to see him, Batsy.” The Joker was talking so quietly that Batman had to step closer to hear him. “A fighter until the end.”

“Yes,” Batman said quietly. “He was. And it is out of respect for his memory that I don’t snap your pasty little neck right here and now.”

“How sweet.” The Joker made a gagging noise. “Euch. The Bat’s gone soft. How old’s your new Robin, by the way? From the newspaper photos I’ve seen, he looks about the same age as the first one before I stopped him from aging. I wonder if he’ll outlive his predecessor…”

“He will.” Batman snatched up the folder and banged on the door. Enough was enough. “Give my regards to Harley Quinn, if she’s talking to you after the cafeteria incident.”

“She’ll come around,” the Joker said happily. “She always does.”

The young guard from earlier opened the door. Batman stepped through without another word. He had been so close to throttling the Joker that it actually scared him a little.

“Did you learn anything?” the commissioner asked Batman as they left the waiting area.

“The Joker doesn’t know anything,” Batman replied.

“Well, there goes our one lead.” Commissioner Gordon sighed. “Any other ideas?”

“Robin found a warehouse worker removing chemicals from a recent shipment,” Batman said. “Unfortunately, Red Hood’s presence meant we couldn’t interrogate him then, but that is tonight’s mission. I emailed you a copy of the photo Robin took.”

“I’ll take a look.” The commissioner got into his car. “Keep me informed.”

Batman nodded curtly and stepped back to let the commissioner drive away. It was in that moment that he realised he had been shaking for their entire conversation; Commissioner Gordon had just been polite enough not to mention it.

“Pull yourself together,” Batman muttered, hopping into the Batmobile and tossing the file onto the seat next to him. Next order of business was questioning that warehouse worker. He had already run facial recognition on Robin’s photo and found a name, Joe Smith. He wasn’t working tonight, which gave Batman an opportunity to speak to him privately and, hopefully, not tip off whoever was paying him to do their dirty work.

Batman keyed Joe Smith’s address into the batmobile’s GPS and drove away from Arkham at last. By the time he parked in a dark corner of the street near the apartment that had been his destination, he had finally stopped shaking. It wasn’t like him to get rattled like that, not while wearing the cowl.

Batman climbed the fire escape nearby until he reached Joe Smith’s floor. He lived alone and had no family, so it was unlikely anybody would be around to interfere. As expected, he was watching television by himself, shovelling popcorn into his wide mouth. Batman let himself in the window, loudly snapping it shut to get the man’s attention.

Smith flinched and switched off the TV. “He told me you’d come for me.”

Batman put on his deep voice, the one he used to intimidate criminals. “Who?”

“The Red Hood.” Smith calmly met Batman’s gaze. “He told me to tell you it was him.”

Batman stepped away from the window, coming to rest behind the man’s chair. “How does he get away with the theft without alerting security?”

“Wish I knew. The guy just pays me to take it away.”

“Where do you take it?”

“Nope, not part of the deal.”

“And what deal is that?”

“The deal where you just walked right into my trap.” Red Hood was leaning against the kitchen archway, repeatedly tossing a large chef’s knife into the air and catching it again. “I guess I was wrong the other day. You _are_ losing your touch, Batman.”

“Am I?” Batman threw a batarang, which knocked the knife out of his opponent’s hand. Red Hood wiggled his fingers, but showed no other reaction.

“I hope I didn’t hurt the little bird too badly,” he said. “You should keep your kids on a shorter leash, Batman. I don’t like hurting children, but that doesn’t mean I won’t.”

His patience stretched thin from his earlier encounter with the Joker, Batman was not in the mood to indulge this maniac. “I’m not here for small talk,” he said. “I want you to stop this… crusade of yours. I don’t know what you think gives the right to act as judge, jury and executioner, but I am not going to tolerate it.”

“Of course you’re not,” Red Hood said with a layer of faux sweetness. “Say, Batman, have you checked the footage of our last encounter yet? Noticed anything fishy?”

“I assume you mean something specific,” Batman replied warily.

“Check out the train station footage.” Red Hood walked to the window, slowly as if he had all the time in the world. “I can’t believe you haven’t noticed it yet. You must be very distracted.” He pushed the window open. “Well, it was nice having this little chat.” He climbed onto the sill, and aimed the next sentence over his shoulder, brandishing a handheld switch. “By the way, before you think of pursuing me, you might want to locate the bomb in this building.” He hopped out of the window. Batman could have tried using his grapple to trap him, but that wasn’t a great idea when there was a bomb to attend to.

Smith dropped his handful of popcorn back into the bowl, flinching from Batman’s scowl. “I—I didn’t know, I swear.”

Batman activated his wrist computer—he didn’t use it much, having a preference for physical computers—and set up a trace program to find the signal receiver on the bomb. It was in the basement. Batman raced out the door and down the stairs, grinding his teeth in irritation that there was no way to get down there faster without exiting the building and leaving the inhabitants unprotected. Evacuation was pointless at this stage and would just create a panic.

He reached the ground floor, startling the landlady. “The basement,” Batman growled. “Now!”

The landlady recovered quickly from her shock, pulling out a set of keys. “This way.” She hurried to a dark corner of the room and unlocked a door. “It’s at the bottom of the stairs.” Batman flew past her and practically slid down the steps.

The bomb was sitting on the floor in front of the boiler. Batman pulled out his wire cutters and dismantled the outer casing to get to the wiring inside. A loud _crack_ made him leap backwards, but it was just a cheap firecracker setting itself off. After the firecracker had burned itself out, Batman grabbed a charred slip of paper inside the box. On it was one word: _Gullible_.

Batman growled, crushing the paper in his fist. He slowly walked up the stairs again, seething. He was just thinking he should check on Joe Smith when the sound of a gunshot rolled down the stairs to the upper apartment floors.

“Oh my,” the landlady said as Batman surged up the stairs. If his hunch was correct…

It was. Smith was sprawled on the floor of his apartment, a bullet hole in the centre of his forehead. Cursing under his breath, Batman called the police. The night was just getting better and better.


	8. This Doesn't Make Any Sense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick grapples with the moral implications of his actions. Meanwhile, Bruce's analysis of the train station footage on Red Hood's advice raises more questions than it answers.

Dick was curled up on the couch in his new apartment. It was bigger than his last one and the furnishings were clean and modern… and heartless. He felt cold just looking at them. The television was built into the wall Dick’s couch currently faced. If he’d still been in his old place, he would have turned the thing on the instant he sat down, but the clear sounds of the television here bore into his ears and made his head throb.

His plans were coming along well, even though he wished they’d come together faster. Batman had proven to be less observant than Dick had expected, which irritated him greatly. It shouldn’t have taken such a violent nudge in the right direction for Batman to get his ass into gear and start doing some proper digging.

“It’s okay,” he told himself out loud. “Batman’s timeline is flexible. As long as he figures it all out before our deadline, it’ll be fine. Black Mask hasn’t made his move yet, but he will soon. I should be focusing on that rather than freaking out over TVs and Batman.” He ran his hands over his face, his fingers rubbing tired eyes. Dick had been neglecting sleep again. He hadn’t been able to fall asleep in this apartment. Not once. But it was too soon to move on yet. He’d have to suck it up and find a way to stay healthy in the meantime.

The apartment was quiet. Like an undisturbed tomb. It often made Dick’s stomach tie itself in knots to the point where he could barely eat. He sometimes played music to offset the feeling, but it was late at night—early morning, actually—and he didn’t want to wake the other tenants. His laptop and headphones were in his bedroom and Dick didn’t have the energy to get them.

Dick slid down the arm of the couch so he was lying on his back, hugging the white, unforgivingly square cushion to his chest. The light above his head shone right into his eyes so he rolled onto his side, still clutching the cushion that didn’t behave like a cushion at all. A small pang of guilt caught him off-guard.

“What’s the matter with you?” he muttered. “Joe Smith played his part and outlived his usefulness. He was just another piece of Gotham trash.” But no matter what he told himself, Dick had not wanted to kill him. It had been a necessary act to prevent Batman from questioning him further, but it bothered him in a way the other murders he’d committed did not. Maybe it was because he, as Red Hood, had been responsible for dragging Smith into a life of crime. He’d needed some quick cash and had been all too easy to manipulate.

Dick thought of Sam and his stomach clenched, driving acid into his throat. It could have easily been Sam in that same position, exhausted from working two jobs and desperately needing the money to care for his daughter. Dick tossed the cushion aside and dashed to the nearby kitchen sink, where he lost the small amount of food he had been able to eat today.

“Stop being an idiot,” Dick scolded himself after he got the retches under control. He filled a glass with water and left the tap running to wash his stomach’s former contents away. “You made sure the people you chose for these jobs had nobody relying on them. They were not desperate people; they were greedy. That is why you chose them, knowing full well you’d dispose of them eventually.” He gulped down his water, trying to kill the taste of vomit in his mouth. He banged the glass down onto the bench, turned off the tap and pulled some leftover salad out of the fridge. It wasn’t much, but he had to eat. He needed the strength.

Dick retreated to his darkened bedroom with the salad and a fork. He sat on his unmade bed, powering up the laptop and pushing the headphones into his ears. Loading a playlist reserved for sleepless nights, Dick rested against the headboard and shoved a piece of lettuce into his mouth, closing his eyes. Today was going to be a mental health day, he decided. He had been overworking and not resting nearly enough and he couldn’t ignore the toll it was taking on him any longer.

Batman, Black Mask, the Joker. They’d all have to wait.

* * *

 

Batman was caught up for a while answering the commissioner’s questions before he finally managed to slip away and get back home. Alfred set a cup of tea on the table nearby while Bruce powered up the batcomputer.

“Another encounter with the Red Hood, sir?” Alfred inquired politely. Batman nodded mutely, pulling back his cowl. “I’ll bring the teapot.” Alfred retreated upstairs, but he’d be back. Bruce loaded up the saved footage from his first encounter with Red Hood, finding the confrontation at the train station. In his distraction, he had completely forgotten the kid had said something that had been drowned out by the train blowing past. Bruce played the tape, listening to Red Hood’s voice.

_“You haven’t lost your touch—”_ The train drowned out the rest of the sentence. Bruce went to work removing the train’s sound. Alfred returned with a teapot. Bruce played back the altered audio.

_“You haven’t lost your touch, Bruce.”_

“Oh dear.” Alfred, who had been in the process of topping up Bruce’s cup, spilled tea onto the table. “My apologies, sir.” He removed the white tea towel draped over his arm and mopped up the mess.

Bruce scowled at the computer screen, bringing his fingers together in a pyramid formation. He ran a mental catalogue of all the people who knew his dual identity, both living and dead. The list wasn’t long. On the villain side, Ra’s and Talia al Ghul were the only two he was certain knew his identity. He sometimes wondered if the Joker did too, but given he had never used the knowledge to strike at either Bruce or Batman, he doubted it. Besides, he was inclined to believe the clown didn’t have any knowledge of the Red Hood’s activities prior to Batman’s interrogation.

While he’d exhausted possibilities for any of his enemies being behind this new identity, he still had serious doubts that one of his allies could be Red Hood. From what he’d seen of this person, he was a young male, didn’t have superpowers, had some serious acrobatic abilities, knew how to handle firearms and explosives and was a skilled hacker. He could only think of one person who fit all those criteria _and_ knew Batman’s identity, and he was dead. Besides, Dick Grayson was not a killer.

Bruce massaged his eyelids, trying to rub out a dull ache behind them. “This doesn’t make any sense, Alfred.”

The butler passed Bruce his cup. “Indeed, sir.”

Bruce took a long sip of the hot liquid to calm himself down. “I talked to the Joker and I don’t think he’s behind this. Even if I doubted his sincerity, we both know the Joker doesn’t work in the shadows like this. He would want us to know it was him. He wouldn’t use some teenager to do his dirty work.” He took another sip so he could gather his thoughts. Alfred was a good sounding board when he was cracking a tough case. “All the clues point towards a person who has been dead for two years. Dick is the only person I can think of who has Red Hood’s specific skill set, but he could never kill anyone, even if he _was_ still alive.” Bruce set his cup aside and rested his elbows on the computer. He was at a loss. “Even if we take gender and age out of the equation, that leaves us with the Arrows, Jason and me, and none of us quite fit.”

“May I suggest taking a break, Master Bruce?” Alfred filled up the teacup and handed it back to the frustrated detective. “I’m certain Master Jason would appreciate your undivided attention for a while, and perhaps distance from this case will assist you in your deductions.”

Bruce breathed in the calming scent of the tea before answering. “Jason should be asleep. It’s a school night.”

“You and I both know Master Jason rarely does as he should, sir.” The butler gave a small smile, lifting the teacup from Bruce’s hands. “Perhaps you could tuck him in?”

“I suppose.” Bruce got up to get changed.

“Your tea will be waiting in the sitting room, sir.” Alfred took the tea set away.

After Bruce was back in civilian clothes, he went upstairs and found Jason playing some kind of hand-held video game in his room. Well, at least he was wearing pyjamas.

“Jason,” Bruce said, announcing his presence. “You need to be up in six hours. Go to bed.”

Jason let out a small growl. “You just killed me. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Have you brushed your teeth?”

“Yes.” Jason rolled his eyes, putting the game away with a little more force than necessary. “How’d tonight go?”

“Fine. Get into bed.”

Jason crawled under the covers, groaning irritably when Bruce smoothed them out over his shoulders. “What’s your deal, Bruce? You feeling okay?”

“I’m fine.” Bruce sat on the end of the bed. “I know I haven’t been around much lately. I wanted to apologise.”

Jason snorted. “Someone hit you on the head, Bruce? You actually sound like a normal parent for once. Come on, man, what happened tonight?”

Bruce let out a short sigh. “Fine. The Joker doesn’t know anything about Red Hood. Speaking of Red Hood, he showed up while I was interrogating the warehouse worker you caught. He distracted me with a fake bomb threat and shot the guy while I was busy.”

Jason made a disgusted face, which then twisted into a pained smile. “Hey, at least he was polite enough to do it privately.”

“Not funny, Jason.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.”

Bruce briefly considered telling Jason that Red Hood knew their identities, but ultimately decided to tell him in the morning. He didn’t want to keep Jason up worrying about it. Instead, he ruffled Jason’s hair and said:

“Hey, how’s your workload at the moment?”

“Bruce, I’m in seventh grade,” Jason replied slowly as if Bruce was an idiot. “They aren’t trying to crush our souls yet. Why?”

“I was thinking we could catch a movie after school tomorrow, if your knee’s up to it.”

Jason snorted. “My knee’s fine. I bet I could go on patrol with you and barely feel it. A movie sounds great. What are we watching?”

“Uh…” Bruce hadn’t quite thought that part through. “I’ll take a look at what’s on and let you know.” He got up, straightening Jason’s bedcovers. “Now go to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning. Goodnight, Jason.”

“Goodnight, Bruce.”


	9. Stupid and Careless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Red Hood uses Batman to help him stop a hit on one of his lieutenants and Batman finally finds the answer he's been looking for, but not the one he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, the events of this chapter are heavily inspired by the "Batman: Under the Red Hood" movie and I've used some of the dialogue from the film.

Red Hood crouched on a rooftop near one of Mama Bear’s clubs. Mama Bear herself was inside, making a rare appearance amongst the scum she usually preferred to avoid. She was a lady, after all. Red Hood had been familiar with her habits long before he recruited her. As far as drug dealers went, she was practically a saint, doing her best to keep civilians from getting tangled up in her business beyond mere drug purchases. She had also refused to sell or employ children long before Red Hood made this a rule, which had improved his opinion of her greatly. If he had to dip his toes in the scummy drug-infested pools of Gotham, at least he’d picked one of the cleaner ones.

He’d heard through his network that Black Mask had hired a group of assassins to take out Mama Bear. Quite ambitious of him, really. A saner option would have probably been to take out the links in the information chain first and cripple the entire operation, but Black Mask wasn’t exactly known for having a full set of monkeys in his barrel.

In any case, Mama Bear was aware of the plot and had been the first to suggest putting herself up as bait to draw the assassins out. She wasn’t helpless, but she wasn’t trained in combat like Red Hood, hence why he was keeping watch. It was likely Batman had received the same intel and would swoop in before anyone got killed. Red Hood was looking forward to the confrontation, really, especially since they’d most likely end up fighting on the same side. Red Hood was here as a protector tonight. Batman was known to tolerate his enemies for short periods of time if they ended up working for the same ends. The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that jazz. Red Hood knew how to use his guns as blunt weapons in the event he and Batman ended up fighting side-by-side. Until Batman showed up, however, he would use whatever methods he wished to protect Mama Bear, including blowing holes in the would-be-assassins’ heads.

Red Hood checked his guns over for the third time that evening. They were fully loaded and ready to go. Not killing these assassins once Batman showed up would be a chore. It wasn’t like Mama Bear could testify against them in court, not when she wasn’t exactly the in cops’ good books herself. They’d be back out on the street in a few days. Maybe he’d be able to take out a few of them before Batman stepped in. He would not indulge Batman’s stubborn moral code until he was absolutely forced to do so.

Adjusting his earpiece, Red Hood narrowed his eyes behind his black domino mask before putting his helmet back on. Mama Bear was wearing a microphone to make his job a little easier, not that it was strictly necessary. Still, he couldn’t afford to lose Mama Bear when most of the other dealers were still chafing at the change of command. Red Hood tuned out the mindless chatter, ears open for any unusual sounds.

Mama Bear’s hushed voice carried through the sound. “There are four people arguing with my bodyguards. One of them is holding something in their jacket pocket. Probably a gun.”

“Can you lead them to the alley out back?” Red Hood whispered. “Don’t want to wreck the place and get the cops’ attention.”

“No problem, kid.” Mama Bear’s overconfident smirk was almost audible. She wasn’t a hardass all the time, just to the people who annoyed her. Red Hood was officially in her good books, so she treated him as a mix of trusted colleague and favourite nephew. She’d even baked him cookies once, promising she hadn’t poisoned them. Red Hood sometimes worried that he was getting too attached to her. Sure, they were working together now, but there would likely come a day when one of them would betray the other or their partnership would be terminated by outside forces. Gotham was in a constant state of upheaval, especially in the criminal world.

“They’re following me,” Mama Bear whispered. “You better be ready or I’ll poison the cookies next time.”

“Put away the arsenic, Mama Bear,” Red Hood replied, making a running leap to the next building. “I got you.” He ran along the roof until he had a clear view of the alley, ducking behind the cylindrical chimney so his position wouldn’t be given away immediately. For this plan to work, Mama Bear’s attackers had to be unaware of his presence until it was too late for them to back out.

The door opened and Mama Bear stepped outside, heading towards the dead end so Red Hood would have a better view of his targets. It was a risky move, but an effective one. Four figures followed her out, surrounding her. Red Hood made a running leap to the building overlooking the alley and pulled out his guns.

“I’m not sure whether to commend you for your bravery,” Mama Bear said to the people advancing on her, “or smack you upside the head for your stupidity. You know who’s got my back. You know what’s going to happen to you.”

Red Hood aimed at the nearest crook and shot him in the temple. The sound bounced between the walls, spilling into the street as the target dropped to the ground in a burst of blood. The remaining three armed themselves, one, the only woman, with a glowing katana, another with a pair of knives and the last with some kind of energy cannon strapped to his arm.

Red Hood leapt from the building as a ball of energy was shot in his direction, cursing under his breath. He landed on the knife-wielder, tackling him to the ground. There was a swish of a cape behind him.

“Nice timing, Batman,” he said, wrapping his fingers around his opponent’s wrists. He twisted, earning two sickly _snaps_ and a scream from the man pinned beneath him. That would keep him occupied for a while.

“Behind you!” Batman shouted. Red Hood rolled aside, barely missing being filleted by the freaky sword of death. He picked himself up just in time to dodge another energy pulse that left a crater in the concrete. He and Batman ended up standing back-to-back in the centre of the alleyway.

“Confined space,” Red Hood said. “Not my best idea ever.”

“Certainly not your worst,” Batman said sourly while the swordswoman and the energy cannoneer circled around them. Mama Bear was hunched in the corner, nursing her hand. They couldn’t count on her assistance with that kind of injury. She knew how to defend herself, but her brand of self-defence usually involved a semi-automatic and bodyguards. At least the arrival of Red Hood and Batman had taken the focus off her for the time being.

Red Hood and Batman scattered when another energy blast was aimed their way. Red Hood’s back smacked the wall at the same time the woman brought her sword down. He began to dodge, but wasn’t quick enough, the sword cutting a searing line across his ribs. Swearing, he reached for her arm while she was still in the midst of the backswing and popped her wrist. She dropped the sword, shrieking, and Red Hood aimed a kick to the face to finish her off.

In the several seconds the exchange had taken, half the alley had been reduced to cinders. The cannon man’s face was coated with a thin layer of grime and a snarl. Batman spared Red Hood a glance and a quick, almost imperceptible, nod before charging in with hands full of batarangs. While Batman kept the guy busy, Red Hood charged from the side, putting a single bullet into the man’s elbow before knocking him down and driving the butt of his gun into the wound, shattering whatever bone was left. Batman provided the final knockout blow.

The pair remained in place—Batman standing and Red Hood kneeling with his gun still sitting in the bloody mess of his opponent’s elbow—until the sound of sirens shook them awake.

“I’ve got to admit,” Red Hood said breathlessly, “I’ve missed watching you work.”

“Nobody had to die tonight,” Batman said roughly, extending a hand to Red Hood, who ignored it, pulling himself upright under his own power.

“Just be happy I killed only one of them,” Red Hood replied, holstering his weapon and leaning in close so Mama Bear wouldn’t hear their conversation. “They’re all assassins!”

“And what are you?” Batman growled.

“I’m cleaning up Gotham.” Red Hood stood up straight, looking Batman dead in the eyes through his helmet. “More than you ever did.”

“You’re stealing territory from Black Mask and killing anyone who gets in your way.”

“Black Mask is just part of the plan.”

“Plan? You’re becoming a crime lord!”

“Yes!” Red Hood exclaimed, apparently ecstatic Batman understood what he was doing. “You can't stop crime. That's what you never understood. I'm _controlling_ it. You want to rule them by fear, but what do you do with the ones who aren't afraid? I'm doing what you won't. I'm taking them out.”

“Tell me what happened to you,” Batman said, his voice suddenly losing its sharp edges. “Let me help.”

“It’s too late,” Red Hood said bitterly, turning away. “You had your chance.” He picked his way over to Mama Bear, grasping for his composure. “Now, Batman, if you’ll excuse me, my friend and I are leaving. I suggest you don’t follow, unless you want to get the cops caught in the crossfire.”

Batman let them go, scowling after them as Red Hood supported Mama Bear through the back door into the club. Once they were gone, his eyes fell onto the discarded sword, which still had a thin layer of Red Hood’s blood on it. Batman tipped a sample into a test tube. Maybe, finally, he’d get some answers.

* * *

 

“You were a bit slow,” Mama Bear said irritably while Red Hood bandaged her hand in one of the club’s back rooms. They sat on the stools at a mini-bar, the first-aid kit resting on the top of it. The walls and carpet were crimson and there was a heart-shaped bed in the corner with leopard print covers. Mama Bear had first come to a life of crime when she had been sold to a prostitution ring and ended up killing one of her more violent clients. She had since killed the old owners of the ring and taken over, later expanding her small empire into the drug trade.

“You’re welcome,” Red Hood muttered. “I could have left you to handle them yourself. In case you haven’t realised yet, it was my gunshot that alerted Batman to our location.”

“And you just knew he’d help us?” Mama Bear snapped, rubbing the bandage Red Hood had just finished applying.

“Something like that.” With Mama Bear taken care of, Red Hood probed the slash in his side. It was fairly shallow, but it was still bleeding. Batman had probably taken a blood sample from the sword to see if Red Hood’s identity would answer the questions he had. It was the sort of thing he’d do.

“I wonder about you sometimes, Red.” Mama Bear was eyeing him narrowly, her lips pressed into a thin line. “You come out of nowhere with a wealth of tactical knowledge far beyond what a boy your age should know. You take control of a piece of Black Mask’s drug empire by waltzing into a meeting you anonymously set up, throwing the heads of our lieutenants at us and then shooting a few rounds in our general direction.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” If Red Hood’s face hadn’t been covered, a rather cheeky grin would have been apparent.

“I’m not convinced you’re old enough to drink, kid. It disturbs me.” Mama Bear’s expression softened a little. “This is a tough game, Red, especially for one so young.”

“I’ve played tougher.” Red Hood applied disinfectant to his wound, grateful his helmet hid his wince. Mama Bear took the cotton bud off him and proceeded to clean the wound herself.

“Who did it?” she asked.

“You’re going to have to be more specific about what you’re asking, MB.”

“Somebody drove you to put on a mask,” Mama Bear said. “Somebody did something so terrible that it changed your life forever. It happens to a lot of us, kid, me included. So, who did it?”

“That’s not an easy question. Too many possible answers. I suppose I could pick one out if I had to.”

Mama Bear threw out the bloodied cotton buds and took out some bandages. “Shirt off, kid.”

“I can do this myself,” Red Hood grumbled, shrugging off his jacket and pulling his leotard down to his waist.

While Mama Bear wrapped the bandage around his torso, she kept talking. “So, are you going to tell me who you decided on?”

“The Joker,” Red Hood replied, wrestling his voice into a flat monotone. “He stole my life; I stole one of his old identities. Hardly a fair trade, but I’m working on evening the score.”

“Look, kid.” Mama Bear looped the bandage around again. “I like you, so I’m going to give you some rare advice: stay away from the Joker. Whatever he did to you, however much it fucked you over, he is _not_ worth it. The guy’s a certified basketcase. You’ve got some serious potential, kid. Don’t throw it away on some half-baked revenge mission.”

“I never half-bake anything,” Red Hood said darkly. “I can promise you, when the time comes to pull my plans out of the oven, they will be well and truly cooked.” If Black Mask was getting desperate enough to hire assassins, it wouldn’t be long before he unknowingly pushed Red Hood’s plans along. For a psychopath, he really was predictable. All Red Hood had to do in the meantime was stay out of Batman’s way once the DNA test was complete and wait for Black Mask to do his thing.

“How old are you? Sixteen? Seventeen?”

Red Hood’s mouth quirked behind the mask. It was almost flattering that nobody ever got his age right. He was a hair too young to be anybody’s reasonable guess.

“A lady never reveals her age,” he said lightly. “It’s rude to ask.” Mama Bear fastened the bandage, smirking. There was a knock on the door.

“Ma’am? You in there?”

“I’m entertaining a friend,” Mama Bear called. “Go away.”

“We’re friends now?”

“Well, I’m the closest thing you’ve got.” Mama Bear packed up the first-aid kit, pretending her hand wasn’t injured. “Put your damn shirt on before I vomit.”

Red Hood pulled his leotard back into position and put his jacket back on. “I’m sorry to have made you ill… ma’am.” He couldn’t contain his snicker.

“Do you think they all call me Mama?”

“I wish they did,” Red Hood replied. “God knows I could use a laugh.” He got up from his stool. “I need to go. Lay low. I doubt Black Mask will try to get to you again, but it can’t hurt to be careful.”

“So, you’re predicting Black Mask’s behaviour now?”

Red Hood snorted. “I’ve been predicting his behaviour from the beginning. He’s not nearly as unpredictable as you all seem to think. If I’m correct, his next move won’t involve you at all, but I can’t vouch for the other people involved in his operation.”

“Are you ever going to let me in on your plans, Red?” Mama Bear asked, pouring herself a glass of wine. “I’d offer you a drink, but I’m not all that into corrupting minors.”

“My plans work best when they’re known by me alone.” Red Hood adjusted his gloves, watching Mama Bear take a long sip of her drink. “I’ll be in touch. Maybe.” Mama Bear waved him off, draining her drink in a manner that would have appalled the shallow socialites at Bruce Wayne’s famous parties. Red Hood took his leave; there was a full bottle of vodka and a few mouthfuls left of whiskey waiting for him back at the apartment now that tonight’s work was done and he could afford to dull his perennially overstretched senses.

* * *

Batman loaded the blood sample into the batcomputer’s receptacle and sat back, watching the screen as the computer digitised the genetic information and started to run it against the data already in the system for a match, starting with Dick’s, as much as he doubted there’d be a match. There was a dull ache behind his eyes that made him just want to shut them and drift off right now in the chair. Batman pulled back his cowl and rubbed his eyes hard enough to make spots appear in his vision.

With any luck, Jason was upstairs sleeping and wouldn’t come bother him until the sun was up. Bruce had had a hunch that he’d encounter Red Hood while investigating the hit put out on Mama Bear and, although Jason was still injured (“Barely!”), he had sulked when Bruce wouldn’t let him come along. He had taken his injury as a personal insult and often expressed a desire to get back at the Red Hood for it. That was, of course, completely out of the question. The further Jason was kept from this Red Hood business, the better.

Bruce often caught himself wondering if he should have taken on a new Robin after Dick died. Sure, he had probably saved Jason from a life of crime, but Bruce often questioned his own motives for taking in the boy. He’d had these concerns about Dick as well. Did he take these boys in because they needed him, or because he needed them? His crusade was a lonely one at times and it helped having someone by his side. Maybe Diana had been right years ago. Maybe the boys really were too young to have been brought into this life. Especially Dick.

The computer beeped at him, having found a match.

“No,” Bruce breathed. On one side of the screen was the clearest picture of Red Hood that Bruce had. On the other side, grinning toothily in costume, was Dick. The photo had been taken shortly after the Team had been formed. Kid Flash’s finger was just in the frame, the rest of him having been cut out when Bruce cropped the photo for his files.

There was a loud crash behind Bruce; Alfred had dropped a tea tray, staring wide-eyed at the computer screen. He and Bruce made eye contact, the question of _how_ running between them without a word needing to be uttered.

* * *

 

It hadn’t taken Bruce long to requisition a bulldozer and bring it to the graveyard. The hardest part had been doing all this without disturbing Jason, who was fast asleep upstairs after a particularly brutal day at school involving a flood of tests and a fight at lunchtime, which he had refused to discuss with Bruce. Bruce had mentioned it to Black Canary in case she’d be able to get through to the boy.

Alfred stood nearby with a lantern while Bruce dug up Dick’s grave. He had protested rather severely, for his standards anyway, but Bruce had silenced him with a look. It was a testament to his loyalty that he had come along, even as he was wincing as the bulldozer pulled back the earth over Dick’s coffin.

Bruce stopped digging and reversed the bulldozer. He grabbed the crowbar by his side and jumped into the hole, landing carefully next to the partially-exhumed coffin.

“Do you need more light, sir?” Alfred asked, lifting the lantern he was carrying.

“I can see fine,” Bruce said shortly, driving the curved end of the crowbar between the lid and the rest of the coffin. He pried it open, shoving it off with his bare hands.

Dick, looking exactly the same as the day he was buried, was lying on the pillow, his hands folded on his stomach. There was no decay, no change whatsoever.

“Well, there you have it,” said Alfred. “He is remarkably well-preserved, but Master Dick is still at rest.”

“No,” Bruce murmured, reaching into the coffin. “He isn’t.” He lifted Dick by the collar of his shirt, scowling at the lack of weight. “That’s not flesh.” He shook the dummy while Alfred looked on, horrified, as the boy’s black hair fell off his head, leaving a bare scalp behind. It had been a wig. Bruce dropped the dummy back into the coffin and stormed off, Alfred hurrying along behind him.

They returned to the Batcave, Bruce shedding his coveralls as he approached the wardrobe that held his batsuit, his face set in a deep frown.

“Master Bruce, you can’t blame yourself,” Alfred said urgently, picking up the coveralls and folding them over his arm.

“It—it was stupid and careless,” Bruce said in a low voice. “The body was made of high-end latex. If I’d even bothered to look inside when I brought him home…” He slipped inside the wardrobe, leaving Alfred outside while he changed.

“Sir, please, remember how distraught you were. Even I found it hard to—”

“Stupid and careless!” Bruce repeated angrily from inside. He finished changing and left the wardrobe, pulling on his cowl.

“Where are you going?” Alfred demanded, distressed enough to drop his usual etiquette.

“To talk to the man who did this,” Batman said darkly. “Look after Jason. Do _not_ tell him what we have discovered.” He headed for the far end of the Batcave where his small black jet lay in wait. “I trust you can handle any visitors for Batman or Bruce Wayne in my absence.”

“Of course, sir,” Alfred said quietly, grasping for his composure and his manners. Batman leapt into the batwing. His blood was burning in his veins, the betrayal pinching his heart.

“What did they do to you, Dick?” he murmured, setting off to meet with the man who could provide the answers: Ra’s al Ghul.


	10. Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amidst alcohol-fuelled regrets for his last conversation with Wally, Dick's plans finally start to pay off when Black Mask inadvertently plays his part in them. Meanwhile, Batman confronts Ra's al Ghul for his part in Dick's resurrection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOTS of borrowing from the "Batman: Under the Red Hood" movie in every scene except the first one. This scene's got that underage drinking the tags warned you all about.

Dick let out a long sigh, resting the vodka bottle on his stomach, loosely gripping the neck to stop it from tipping over. Between the adrenaline rush from fighting alongside Batman and the alcohol, he was so calm that the whole apartment could have exploded and he would have barely batted an eye. The television was on, turned down to the point where it was barely background noise. He found he could only stand the clear sound quality of the television when he was rather drunk. The couch, which he usually found rather severe and unforgiving under his weight, felt soft and inviting. Even the harsh lighting didn’t bother him at the moment.

The whiskey was long gone and Dick had downed half the vodka already. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew this was going to end with his head in the toilet if he didn’t slow down, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The buzz was seeping in, filling his head with cotton and smiles. The TV was playing some old 90’s sitcom that had probably been around longer than he had. The alcohol in his blood nudged him to laugh at the ridiculous jokes that normally would have prompted him to throw his shoe at the screen.

Dick usually kept his drinking under control after an unfortunate incident in Mexico involving a drug dealer, the guy’s girlfriend and too much tequila. But right now, with nothing to do but wait for other people to connect dots and play their hands, he didn’t have anything better to do other than get drunk and join in on all the canned laughter.

The show cut to commercials and Dick rolled his eyes, tipping more vodka down his throat. He could barely feel the burn anymore, or the stinging from the sword slice. Once the drink hit his system in earnest, he probably wouldn’t be watching any more TV. Watching the inside of the toilet was more likely.

He checked his watch as it ticked over to the next hour. He heard the far-off sounds of an explosion and smiled quietly to himself. Between the assassins’ failure and the blowing up of Black Mask’s office that had just occurred, he wouldn’t be surprised if Black Mask was already pushing his plans along.

Dick pulled out the disposable mobile phone he’d purchased the other day. He usually kept it switched off, not that it really mattered since nobody had his number, but in his current state of inebriation calling Wally to apologise for their confrontation seemed like a good idea. It had been weighing on his mind ever since it happened.

He dialled Wally’s number. Numbers, particularly phone numbers, had been one of the things his brain had taken a while to retrieve after his resurrection. His mind had been shattered, forcing him to reconstruct his memories piece-by-piece over the space of several months. It was a wonder he’d survived out there in that state.

Wally picked up, yawning. “Hello?” His voice was soft and sleepy and strangely… sweet. Dick froze, everything he wanted to say falling out of his head. This was a bad idea. This was a bad idea and he was never drinking again.

“Hello?” Wally repeated, sounding more awake. “Who is this and why are you calling at three in the bloody morning?” Dick’s heart was in his throat. “Dick, is this you? Or are you just some creepy stalker who’s gonna start breathing heavily into the phone any moment now?” Dick was still frozen. “Look, okay, if this is you, Dick, I’m… sorry. You know, for getting mad at you the other day. I don’t know what’s happened to you and if you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll respect that, but you don’t have to handle this alone. All you have to do is go home. I miss you, dude. Everyone misses you, and it’s killing me that I can’t tell them you’re okay. I know you said you have stuff to do, but I’m sure Bruce would be happy to—”

Dick hung up, bringing the phone down with a shaking hand; he couldn’t do this. Wally was just so _earnest_ , and it was carving a hole in his chest. He turned off the phone and shoved it under the couch cushions, jamming it in enough that he’d have a hell of a time getting it out even if he was sober and in full control of his faculties.

Calling Wally had been a dumb idea. Now Dick was hurting in his chest and his throat and he was shaking all over. He downed the rest of his vodka and curled up on the couch, waiting for it to kick in and bring him blessed oblivion, at least for a few hours.

* * *

 

Black Mask looked at the gaping hole in the high-rise building that had once been his office, his assistant and planner, Ms Li, standing beside him. Her tailored suit was coated in a fine layer of dust but she stood tall and dignified as always, even though she had been on the floor below when the office had exploded. The rest of Black Mask’s henchmen were still running around in a panic. He just wanted to reach out and grab them all by the throat and smack some sense into them. But there were more important issues at hand, like the fact his office had just been blown up.

“The explosives were detonated on the hour,” said Ms Li. “Nobody was in the office at the time. I would say it was lucky, but—”

“Luck had nothing to do with it.” Black Mask rubbed at the point where the wooden mask had fused with his face. Seeing the last of the flames lapping at the building made it itch. After all, the mask had been burned onto his face in the first place.

“The Red Hood was clearly making a point after today’s failure,” said Ms Li. “Both he and Mama Bear are still alive and well.”

“He’s laughing at us.” Black Mask let out a groan that sounded closer to a breathless roar. “You wanna tell me why this guy ain’t dead?!”

“We’re trying, sir.” Ms Li didn’t seem rattled by her boss’s outburst. “The boy has proven… elusive.”

“Huh.” Black Mask scowled at his panicking henchmen. “So, we got a mini-Batman on our hands, do we? One who doesn’t mind the blood?”

“No, sir, he’s no Batman.” Ms Li consulted her clipboard, which she had somehow managed to salvage from the ruins of her office, which had been right next to Black Mask’s. “He’s still taking huge cuts off the streets. But it seems he’s trying to eliminate the competition now, rather than scare them into joining him.”

“You don’t say?” Black Mask replied sarcastically. “Why hasn’t Batman wiped this little smear off the face of the planet?”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to,” Ms Li suggested. “Perhaps he’s letting you and the Red Hood… ‘war it out’, so to speak. He could be waiting to take on the winner.”

“What do you think this is, woman? A tennis tournament?” If Ms Li hadn’t made herself so indispensable to his operation…

“I’m just saying—”

“You’re an idiot… and you don’t know Batman. He’s not letting this lunatic run wild. He can’t catch him either. Or it’s something else…” Black Mask heard the sound of approaching sirens and dragged Ms Li off the street. The firemen would be too preoccupied with their jobs to pay them any mind. “Can’t you feel it? We’re stuck in the damn crossfire.” He rubbed the point of fusion between his neck and the mask again. “Time to change up the ground war, Ms Li.”

“How so, sir?”

“I’m being forced into negotiating with a psychotic if I ever want this kid out of my way.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“No. It’s going to be a nightmare.” In his frustration, he drew his gun and shot down his closest henchman. The rest of his mooks quit their panicking at last. Good. He needed these losers to back him up. Damn the Red Hood for taking all his good thugs when he commandeered half his operation.

* * *

 

Paying off the Arkham guards was easy, although Black Mask’s task force had to shoot another guard who wasn’t in the know and wouldn’t leave his co-workers alone. Black Mask stepped over the man’s corpse and into the dank hallway.

“Does he know what’s going on?” his team leader asked the guard who had keyed in the security code.

“Knows he’s leaving,” the guard replied, shrugging. He was remarkably unfazed by the bleeding corpse a mere few feet behind him. Black Mask kind of liked that.  It took a special kind of asshole to not bat an eye at that kind of stuff.

“It’s gonna be a sleepover, right?” the Joker said, pressing his face against the narrow strip of wired glass on his door. “I packed my toothbrush.”

* * *

 

With the destruction of Black Mask’s office, he had to hold the meeting in a small room on the ground floor of his building. The room was white with a grey metal table, like Arkham but cleaner, really. The fluorescent light above them flickered intermittently while the Joker munched on a packet of chips one of Black Mask’s people had given him.

“I hope you understand the trouble I’ve gone through to arrange this little get-together,” said Black Mask.  “A lot of money. A lot of dead meat.” The Joker stared at him wordlessly, throwing another chip into his mouth. Black Mask had never seen somebody look less impressed while eating junk food. “Look,” he continued awkwardly, “I’ve got a problem… and you are absolutely the man who possesses the gifts to take care of this… problem. I need you to murder the Red Hood. You think you can handle that?”

The Joker swallowed and let out a delicate cough. “May I have some water?” The Black Mask gestured to the man by his side, who filled a glass from a pitcher and handed it to the Joker.

The Joker surveyed the water in the glass for a moment, before he slammed it against the edge of the table. He then slashed the man’s throat with the jagged edge of the broken glass, barely blinking at the blood painting his face, and grabbed the gun out of his holster. He let the man fall, twitching, and shot the other four henchmen in the room. Ms Li cringed behind Black Mask, who was frozen in his chair. The Joker aimed the gun at Black Mask, his face cracking into his typical grin, before a small giggle escaped his lips. Then a snort. Then a cackle. Then a high-pitched screech of laughter that seemed to go on for an eternity. He lifted the gun, quieting down again.

“You done?” said Black Mask, unimpressed.

“I’m going to need something to wear,” the Joker said, tugging at the collar of his white jumpsuit. “And a very big truck.”

“Sure. Anything else?”

“I’ll need some guys.” The Joker swept his arms around the room, having seemingly forgotten the gun he was holding. “Not these guys because, well, they’re kind of dead.” He started laughing again and Black Mask resisted the temptation to grab him by the throat. There was no way in hell they were going to be able to negotiate further details tonight.

* * *

 

Batman landed on the roof of Ra’s al Ghul’s clifftop palace. He sent his jet flying off to wait out of sight and lowered himself onto the terrace, easily taking out the two guards in his vicinity. The long flight had not tempered his rage. He was still shaking with it, choking on it, drowning in memories.

Two more guards taken out. He reached the sliding glass door. He let himself inside and down the stairs and through a door, which he locked behind him. Ra’s al Ghul was standing by the window in his usual long green robe, his grey-streaked hair sculpted into two sections on his head like horns. Batman grabbed the man by the neck and slammed him facedown onto the floor.

“What did you do to Dick?” Batman growled, twisting the man’s arm behind his back. “Act like you don’t know what I’m talking about and I’ll dislocate the shoulder. That’s just to start.”

Ra’s let out a groan. “If you haven’t disabled the roof sensors,” he said, his voice strained from the pain, “my guards will be here in under a minute.”

“Answer me.” Batman pulled Ra’s’ arm tighter, cracking the joints enough to make the man twitch beneath him, groaning in pain.

“I’m willing to!” he ground out, turning his head to the side so he could see Batman from his position on the floor. “But it will be more expedient if you hand me the communicator in my pocket and I call off my men.”

Batman considered this for a moment, ultimately deciding to give in. He needed to know what Ra’s did and the only way that was going to happen was if he followed the man’s instructions. He fished the communicator out of Ra’s’ pocket and held it in front of his face.

“Commander, this is Ra’s al Ghul,” said Ra’s. “Stand down. I will be entertaining a guest in my study.” Batman let him up, tossing the communicator to him.

“Now talk,” Batman said, his patience barely hanging by a thread.

Ra’s walked over to his desk and poured himself a glass of wine, knowing better than to offer Batman any. “You remember when we last became embattled?”

“You were planning to blow up banks,” Batman said disapprovingly.

“Accurate, if inelegant.” Ra’s sipped his wine, watching Batman over the rim of his glass. “I was in the midst of toppling the economy of Europe, but you were onto me. I sought a distraction, so I hired the Joker.” Batman could almost envision the Joker in his purple suit, standing across from Ra’s in whatever meeting place they had decided on, grinning widely, already planning how to make sure he was the only person who came out on top in this situation. “When your paths crossed in Bosnia, it was to appear you had stumbled upon him.”

Batman could recall clearly the frozen, grinning faces of the dead guards and doctors and nurses as he and Dick raced through the hospital, urgency pressing them onward. Batman had thrown open a storeroom door to find the Joker and his goons emptying boxes upon boxes of pill bottles into their sacks, the Joker grinning at the new arrivals. The goons had engaged Batman while Robin went for the Joker, smacking down one of the masked goons on the way. As he watched his henchmen fall, the Joker had fled, Robin chasing after him while Batman handled the last of the opponents. When Batman made to follow them, one of the goons recovered and managed to knock him out for a short time.

“He was paid extremely well for what was intended to be a wild-goose chase,” Ra’s continued, staring into the innards of his wine glass. “Then… he murdered the boy. That was not by design.”

Batman remembered the explosion, being mere seconds too late, digging Dick’s broken body out of the wreckage, holding him close, hoping… praying for some sign of life. Anything. The moment had not felt real, even as Dick lay silent and still in his arms.

“I’m afraid I overestimated my ability to control the Joker,” Ra’s said, setting his wine aside if he had suddenly lost his taste for it. He looked up to meet Batman’s eyes. “Just as I underestimated his madness. It grieved me, sir,” he continued heavily, “to be a party to something so brutal.”

“You’ve never shied away from drawing blood,” Batman replied, his eyes narrowing behind the cowl.

“True… but always with _purpose_. Always with greater goals.” Ra’s’ expression darkened. “This was simply an unnecessary casualty. As penance, I chose not to make war with you again and… to attempt to rectify this disservice.”

The word lodged itself in Batman’s throat. He took a moment to pull it out, during which his mouth hung open until he could finally talk. “Rectify?!”

“Yes,” Ra’s replied, taking on a rather resolute expression that would normally have prompted Batman to reach for his utility belt. “I had hoped to return to you what you had lost. I have walked this world for nearly six centuries. As you know, I achieve this by bathing in the rejuvenating waters of the Lazarus Pit.” Batman was starting to feel nauseous about where this conversation was heading. “Along with its healing properties, it has long been rumoured that it is capable of an even greater feat: to raise the dead.”

Batman balled his hands into fists at his sides. He knew what Ra’s had done and it made his skin crawl and bile rise in his throat. He had once witnessed Ra’s’ rejuvenation in the Pit; it was not a memory easily forgotten. The thought of Dick being subjected to the agony, the madness…

“Procuring the remains of your partner was not difficult,” Ra’s said, his tone becoming more businesslike and straightforward as he turned to the enormous window. “You had come to Bosnia under the guise of Bruce Wayne and you chose to depart as such. You even concocted the cover story that young Richard had died in a bombing in Sarajevo. This made it easy for me. All it took was a few payoffs to replace his body. I felt confident that you would not perform an autopsy. Even if you had, we still would have bought enough time. But, my plan…”

Batman waited for him to continue, frowning about as deeply as was humanly possible.

Ra’s turned back to Batman, frowning a little himself. “Well, detective, it had unfortunate results. He returned to this world, but returned… damaged.” Ra’s closed his eyes for a moment, apparently lost in the memory.

Batman’s mind conjured up images of the Pit, of Dick’s body being swallowed in its bubbling, green waters. He bowed his head at the weight of his thoughts, torn between wanting to know every single excruciating detail of what happened there and shutting his mind out to the possibilities. It would have been agonising, disorienting, terrifying for the poor boy. He had only been thirteen, for God’s sake!

“In short, he escaped, leaping off the cliff nearby,” Ra’s said finally. “My army searched for months, but we were never able to find a body or pick up a trail. I thought him dead yet again. But I hear you have been having trouble at home.” Batman raised his head. “I have returned your son to you as a blight upon your house.” Ra’s turned away towards the window again, but not before Batman caught a glimpse of an agonised expression. He slipped away, having heard enough. “He burns the very kingdom you…” Ra’s noticed Batman was no longer in the room. “…protect.”

Ra’s pressed a button on his communicator and one of his assistants entered the room. “Shall I alert the guards to pursue him?” asked the man.

“Don’t be foolish,” Ra’s snapped. “They would never catch him. Besides… I have done enough.”


	11. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wally finally puts two-and-two together and comes clean to Batman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the rare chapters where I don't pinch dialogue from the movie. Addendum: My laptop's power adapter got fried today so I'm running on limited battery power that needs to be dedicated to uni assignments. It might be some time before the next chapter is up and ready.

Wally had been following the Red Hood saga in Gotham as closely as he could with his limited access to Justice League files, not that it would have helped much since Batman wasn’t the type to check in with the League when working alone. Something about the situation had been bothering Wally from the beginning. He had been doing extra research on the main computer when Jason—he still felt funny calling him Robin—showed up.

“What’s up, birdie?”

Jason narrowed his eyes at him from behind the mask. “Batman ran off in the batwing last night and Alfred won’t tell me anything.”

“Yeah, that happens sometimes.” Wally was still sifting through news articles and the occasional police report Jason had probably unearthed while practicing his hacking. That phone call from last night was still freaking him out. He was almost certain it had been Dick, because who the hell else would have stayed on the line that long once he started rambling?

“He’s been really weird about this Red Hood thing,” Jason said, watching the holographic screen.

“You know Red Hood was one of the Joker’s old aliases, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, we all know what happened to the last Robin who got mixed up with the Joker.” Wally didn’t have to feign the distress in his voice. Even if Dick was alive, he was seriously fucked up and probably needed help that he wasn’t willing to ask for. It seemed like Wally spent half his time worrying about the guy. He regretted his decision to honour Dick’s wishes more and more with each passing day.

“We don’t think the Joker has anything to do with him, though,” Jason said. “This guy’s, like, your age. Maybe even younger. Batman only knows one person with the right skill set who’d be the right age, and he’s dead.”

_Dick. It was Dick._

_Holy fuck._

“Do you know when Batman’s coming back?” Wally asked quickly. Jason shrugged.

“No idea.” Jason crossed his arms, frowning. “Why?”

“I just need to talk to him,” Wally said, forcing his voice to sound calm. Dick was the Red Hood. Dick was a murderous crime lord. That wasn’t like Dick at all. He had been so upset when he’d thought M’gann had killed somebody on her first mission. Batman had drilled the importance of life into him.

“You’re lying,” Jason said. “You know something, don’t you? This guy’s been such a headache, you don’t even know. Batman hasn’t let me do _anything_ since we faced him. Seriously, if you know something, _tell me_.”

“I don’t know anything for sure,” Wally said, surprised by how much Jason was saying. He usually didn’t like talking to the team. “I just wanted to run a theory by Batman.”

“What is it?”

“Not telling.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a stupid theory and probably wrong and I don’t need to be punched in the face.”

“Whatever.” Jason stalked towards the kitchen without another word. Wally turned his attention back to the screen, trying to pretend his heart and throat were not being squeezed by the iron grip of his realisation. Now that he’d made the connection, it seemed stupid to him that any other answer could be possible, no matter how much he wished for it.

“Idiot!” Wally scolded himself. He never should have kept Dick’s survival a secret. He, Wally, was complicit in every terrible thing Dick had done because of this. How many people would still be alive if he’d manned up and told Batman?

And why THE FUCK was Dick killing people?

And where the hell was Batman? Why would he just leave Gotham while in the middle of a case? Wally shut off the computer, resisting the temptation to smack his forehead against the nearest wall.

“Wally?” Kaldur stepped into the room. His suit was damp, which meant had probably just been swimming. “Is everything all right?”

Wally realised he must have looked strange standing in the middle of the room muttering to himself. “Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

“Are you struggling with your studies again? I recall both Batman and the Flash have offered to tutor you.”

“No, it’s not that.” Wally sighed. “It’s kind of… personal.”

“Am I prying?” Kaldur asked. “My apologies.”

It couldn’t hurt to share at least a part of his thoughts, right? Maybe airing them would ease the pressure on his heart. “I’ve… it’s just… I’ve been thinking about Robin… the first one… lately.”

Kaldur’s entire expression widened with understanding. “Ah, I see. There was some kind of anniversary recently, was there not?”

“Yeah, earlier this month. We used to call it the beginning of Robin, even though he didn’t actually become Robin until later.” Wally could see Kaldur’s brain working to understand what he’d just said. “It’s… hard to explain.”

“That day was the catalyst that eventually led him to become Robin?”

“Something like that. It’s kind of the same for Batman. I mean, they don’t have powers. Something pretty major has to make them dress up like animals and fight crime.”

“I believe I understand what you are saying,” said Kaldur. He put a hand on Wally’s shoulder. “If you are struggling, I would advise you to speak with Black Canary. I know you and Robin were very close and his death has affected you in unique ways.” Kaldur’s slow, gentle voice nearly did Wally in. Not trusting himself to keep his knowledge quiet if he opened his mouth, he settled for a nod. Kaldur offered him a comforting smile before heading for one of the corridors.

Wally hovered, uncertain, before finally making a decision to head for the Batcave. Batman pretty much told Alfred everything, so maybe Wally could tell him if Batman wasn’t there. He needed to tell _someone_. It was important.

* * *

 

Batman had barely hopped out of his jet when he heard someone calling him. A streak of yellow flew across his vision, which then took on the form of Kid Flash as he skidded to a stop.

“I need to talk to you,” he said breathlessly, even though the run shouldn’t have exerted him that much.

“I don’t have time,” Batman said, walking right past him to the Batcomputer.

“It’s about Dick.”

Batman paused in the act of turning on the computer, his arm in the air. “What do you know?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“He’s alive,” Kid Flash said, “and I think he might be the Red Hood. I mean, I saw him a few months ago in Central City but he made me swear not to tell anybody and then Red Hood appeared in Gotham but I didn’t think much about it at the time but then I saw Dick in Gotham and then Jason was just telling me Red Hood has Dick’s skillset and then I thought about itandDickwouldprobablybethesameage—”

“Stop,” Batman commanded. “You knew he was alive all this time?”

“Yes.” To his credit, Kid Flash looked utterly ashamed of himself. “He insisted I keep it a secret. It was a mistake. I know that now. I should’ve told you anyway.”

“People have died,” Batman said, perilously close to exploding. “ _Many_ people. I only discovered Red Hood’s identity _yesterday_.” The lenses of Batman’s mask narrowed. “Wait. You said you saw him in Gotham as Dick?”

“Yes… well, he was going by Dan…”

“Where?”

“A library near where Artemis lives,” Wally replied. “She saw him first but didn’t realise it was him. She just thought he was some random who looked a lot like him.”

Batman switched on the computer. “If he frequents that library, there’s a good chance he lives within walking distance. If he’s been laying low, frequent usage of public transportation is unlikely, especially when finances are a factor.” He typed some parameters into the database. “He is probably renting an apartment, something small and unassuming. The landlord will need to take cash and not ask for identification, so that suggests a cheap apartment block with a number of tenants who are struggling financially.” He finished adding the data and started a search for likely locations. “This one is most likely.”

“They don’t call you the World’s Greatest Detective for nothing,” Kid Flash said appreciatively.

“Master Wallace?” Alfred’s voice came from the stairs, shortly followed by the man himself. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Hardly,” Batman said.

“Batman’s mad at me,” Wally explained. “I knew Dick was alive for a while but he made me swear to keep quiet. I saw him in Gotham recently and only just put two and two together.”

“Are you sure it was him, sir?”

“Positive. We talked. He seemed a little… off. But I didn’t expect him to do this.”

“None of us did, sir.”

“We have a likely base of operations,” Batman said, staring intently at the screen. “We’ll visit tonight and talk to the landlord.”

“We?”

“You and me. I’m keeping Robin… Jason… out of this.” Batman shut off the computer. “You’ve spoken to Dick. Perhaps, if we cross paths with him, your presence will improve the situation. We need to stop him. Do you understand that?”

“Of course!” Wally replied, slightly offended. “That’s, like, the only thing I understand. Dick wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“Are you familiar with the eco-terrorist known as Ra’s al Ghul?” Batman asked, slumping in his seat. Kid Flash nodded quickly, shifting from foot-to-foot fast enough that his outline became slightly blurred. Batman chose to look at the blank screen rather than try to focus on the boy’s nauseating movements.

“He’s immortal or something, isn’t he?”

“Or something…” Batman repeated. It was probably the most accurate descriptor. “Ra’s al Ghul uses pools of water called Lazarus Pits to extend his life. These Pits kill healthy people but revive the dying and, it has been rumoured, the dead. Ra’s felt remorse for his part in Dick’s death, as he had hired the Joker to distract us, so he attempted to correct his… error.” The word felt small and inadequate in his mouth, but Batman did not currently have the patience to search for a better one.

“So Ra’s brought Dick back to life… wrong?” Kid Flash’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

“It appears so.” Although Batman was still looking in the direction of the blank screen, he wasn’t really seeing it. “I have witnessed Ra’s al Ghul’s revival in the Pit once before.” Batman got up. “The sun should be setting. I’ll explain the rest on the way. Get in the car.”

* * *

 

By the time they arrived at the apartment block and Batman had finished his explanation, Kid Flash felt about ready to puke.

“Do not throw up in the car,” Batman threatened, pulling into a dark alley to park. Kid Flash was out of the car, dry heaving with his arms braced against the wall, before Batman had even turned off the ignition. When he was finished, Batman had locked up the car with a new security measure; thin plates of metal covered every inch of the vehicle, including the wheels. He had installed it after he’d caught Jason stealing the wheels off the Batmobile during their first encounter. The kid had balls, even if he was a brat sometimes.

“Ready?” Batman asked, his voice strangely distant, even for him. Kid Flash dabbed at his mouth with the back of his glove. He hadn’t actually vomited, but it didn’t hurt to make sure he looked halfway presentable.

“Ready.” Kid Flash had kept his yellow costume at Batman’s request. Something about putting people at ease. He followed Batman into the five-storey apartment block, quickly locating the landlord’s room. Batman knocked twice.

“I swear to God if that boiler’s broken again—” The landlord, clad in a dirty singlet, opened the door and fell silent, gazing up at Batman’s cowl with his mouth agape.

“I’m looking for Daniel,” Batman said.

“Dan?” the landlord asked, recovering quickly. “Nah, he’s not here anymore.”

“Could we see his room?” Kid Flash asked. The landlord threw a key at him.

“Downstairs. First door on the left. Bring the key back when you’re done.” He shut the door on them.

“Friendly guy,” Kid Flash commented. Batman plucked the key out of his hands and headed for the stairs without a word. By the time Kid Flash followed, Batman was already in the room and searching around.

“Keep a lookout,” he said, overturning the armchair cushion. Kid Flash leaned against the doorframe.

“I can’t believe we missed him,” he said sourly. “God knows where he is now.”

“We’ll find him.” Batman’s voice sounded rather reassuring… for his standards. “He has intentionally confronted me before. He will likely do so again. Did he tell you anything that might help us?”

“Well, he said his undercoverness wasn’t permanent,” Kid Flash replied, squeezing his memories for every drop of information he could find. “He said he’d tell you he’s back after he’d done some things he needed to do. I couldn’t get much out of him before he got all defensive and then we just got mad at each other.” He sighed regretfully. “I’m such a fuck-up.”

 “We’ll find him,” Batman repeated quietly. “And watch your language.”

The admonishment actually made him feel a little better, like things were normal. “Sorry, boss. Is there anything else I can do?”

“No. Stay by the door.” Batman disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Kid Flash alone in the living room with his regrets and a television that was probably older than he was. Had Dick watched that TV and sat in that chair late at night when he couldn’t sleep? Dick had had trouble sleeping for as long as Wally could remember. Sometimes he used to go out to the Mount Justice kitchen for a midnight snack and find Dick in the lounge, sometimes crying, other times doing nothing but staring at the TV, his expression blank as the screen. Dick had tried to hide his insomnia from the rest of the team, but it had been apparent to all of them and it had become an unspoken rule to avoid broaching the subject with him. Wally was the exception, so Kaldur had often used him as an agent to express the concerns of the rest of the team.

But now Dick had no one looking out for him, no one to remind him to eat or drag him to bed or snap him out of his moods. He was alone, so alone, and it was driving Wally mad with worry.

He exchanged a quick glance with Batman while the older hero moved to inspect the bathroom. Kid Flash wasn’t entirely sure what he was hoping to find, but he wasn’t about to tell him how to do his job, especially not when Dick was involved. The psychological effects of the Lazarus Pit notwithstanding, he had still been violently beaten and murdered by one of the most deranged criminals in the world and woken up in the hands of his enemies. There was no way anybody could get through all that without being damaged.

Batman didn’t take long to finish searching the bathroom, showing Kid Flash a medicine bottle. “These pill bottles are dated for several months ago. He was likely using them to discretely carry the chemical components of his explosives.” He dropped the bottle, and several others, into evidence bags and tucked them away in his belt. Kid Flash was surprised they fit.

While Batman went to search the final room in the house, the bedroom, Kid Flash looked out into the darkened hallway. This place was so dreary and depressing. Dick didn’t belong here. He belonged out in the sun, enjoying a day off, or laughing in the heat of combat alongside his friends.

“I miss you, dude,” he murmured. “The old you. I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.” He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain filling up his insides, threatening to burst out from the vessel that was too small to contain it. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“I know,” Batman said quietly. “I’m sorry, too.”


	12. Showtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon returning to the Batcave, Batman and Kid Flash discover Robin is missing. Fearing the worst, Kid Flash is sent to his rescue while Batman is forced to deal with another urgent situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a bit of dialogue borrowed or adapted from the movie, but with a deviation near the end that I only just decided on. That's gonna change much of the next chapter so it might take some time before it's ready.

Batman and Kid Flash dropped the key off at the landlord’s room and headed for the exit, moving aside to let somebody else come in.

“Strange seeing your type around these parts,” the man said tiredly. “Usually a quiet neighbourhood.”

“We were looking for someone,” Kid Flash replied.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Dan. Well, let me tell you something about that kid. He’s quiet, keeps to himself, sure, but he ain’t no criminal. He’s a good kid and don’t you lay a finger on him.”

“That was not our intention,” Batman replied, adopting a slow, calming voice he tended to use around panicked civilians.

“Good, because we need more people like him in the world.” The man shifted a bulky backpack from one shoulder to the other, wincing. “He used to babysit my daughter for me, for free. Do you know how hard it is to find sitters when your kid is terminally ill? And you know what else? The day he left, every tenant in this building found out their rent had been paid for the next month. I don’t know how the kid got the cash and, honestly, I don’t care. That kind of generosity can mean the difference between eating and starving around these parts. So, I mean it. You hurt him, you answer to me.”

“Understood,” Batman said.

“We want to help him,” Kid Flash added. “He’s gotten himself in pretty deep with the wrong crowd.”

“If you say so.” The man didn’t look convinced. “I need to go. I had to leave my daughter alone while I went to work because my boss is a jerk.” Without another word, he headed up the nearby stairs.

“So, what now?” Kid Flash asked Batman.

“Back to the Cave.” Batman swept out of the building, Kid Flash following closely behind him.

* * *

 

While the computer analysed the contents of the pill bottles, Batman watched about five news programs at once, switching the audio for each on and off whenever something piqued his interest. Wally hung back, bored, and ate from a platter of sandwiches Alfred had brought down for him.

“Has Jason come home yet?” Batman asked Alfred, who shook his head.

“I’m afraid not, sir. Perhaps he wishes to spend the night at Mount Justice?”

“Perhaps…” Batman sounded doubtful; Jason usually didn’t stay there of his own volition. Wally pressed the communicator in his ear.

“Hey, Robin? You there?”

There was an explosion of static, which made Wally cringe, before Jason’s voice, shaky and breathless, came over the connection. “It’s him. He’s got me.”

“Who’s got you?” Wally asked quickly. “Red Hood?” Batman surged to his feet, his mouth set in a thin line.

“Yeah.” Jason took in a trembling breath. “I’m in the dark. I can’t see.”

“Okay, dude, stay calm.” Wally addressed Batman and Alfred. “The Red Hood took Robin. He’s somewhere dark.” He spoke to Jason again. “Do you know where you are?”

“No.” Jason’s voice was strained, all traces of his usual smartass demeanour long gone. “He showed up in the Batcave and we fought but he knocked me out with some kind of gas. He knows where the Batcave is! What if he comes after Bruce and Alfred?”

“Don’t worry about them,” Wally said firmly. “Worry about yourself. Is there anything you can tell us that might help? We’re in the Batcave right now.”

“I… don’t know. I think I’m in a metal box or something.”

“Jason thinks he might be in some kind of metal box,” Wally relayed to Batman.

“Dick would’ve known all team members carry a communicator in their ear,” Batman said. “If he let Jason keep his, there has to be a reason. He wanted us to find him.” He turned to the Batcomputer. “Keep talking to him. I’m going to see if his tracking beacon is still active.”

“Batman’s checking some stuff out right now,” Wally told Jason. “We’ll find you, okay? Everything’s going to be fine.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” Jason said irritably. “This guy’s got it out for Batman, okay? He’s probably, like, booby-trapped the Batcave. Or maybe he’s just going to ambush Batman when he comes for me.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Wally replied. “You know Batman. He’ll be fine.”

“His tracking beacon is operational,” Batman said, watching one of the screens that had a map of Gotham with a pulsating dot on it. “He’s at the docks.”

“Sir?” Alfred said hesitantly, pressing a button to unmute one of the news shows, which was currently showing some kind of commotion on the bridge. Somebody was standing on top of an armoured truck with a tank of gasoline in his hands.

“The Joker,” Batman growled. He threw a small handheld device at Wally. “Find Robin. I need to handle this.”

“What if you see Dick?” Wally asked.

“I’ll think of something.” Batman dashed to the Batmobile.

“The Joker’s just shown up in Gotham,” Wally told Jason. “Batman’s got to deal with that, but your tracking beacon’s still working so I’m coming for you, okay? Hang in there, kid.”

“Sure.” Jason sounded the exact opposite of enthused.

“Don’t be like that. If we’re quick enough, maybe we can help Bats take out the Joker.”

“Yeah, right. Batman won’t let me near the guy.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” Wally polished off one last sandwich before getting up and pulling his cowl and goggles back on. “I’ll be there soon, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”

“Shut up.”

* * *

 

The Joker giggled, balancing precariously on the edge of the opening on top of the armoured truck, splashing gasoline inside onto Black Mask, Ms Li, some of their men and a handful of Red Hood’s underlings. The truck was in the centre of Gotham’s suspension bridge, both it and the police blockade stopping traffic in all directions.

“I’m a little teapot, short and stout…” The Joker tapped the bottom of the gasoline tank to coax out a few more drops of the liquid. “Here is my handle, here is my spout.”

“This wasn’t a part of the damn deal, you freak!” Black Mask roared. “Get me out of here right now!”

“I thought you’d enjoy seeing some old faces,” the Joker said, his grin broadening as he pulled out a cigarette lighter. “After all, most of these guys used to work for you.”

“Shut your hole, you pathetic excuse for a clown,” Mama Bear snapped from the corner. “I’ve met cops with a better sense of humour than you.”

The Joker glanced behind him to the line of police vehicles. “I’m touched by your concern, Miss Bear, but I’m afraid I have to disagree.” He saluted the cops, who had been kind enough to put a spotlight on him. He saw another spotlight reaching into the distance until it settled on an elevated part of the suspension bridge, on which the kid who had stolen his identity was standing, looking quite relaxed.

“Hey, look at you, Mr Hood,” the Joker called to him. “Or do you prefer Red?” He tossed the tank of gasoline into the armoured truck, chuckling as Ms Li screeched and rolled out of the way. “I used to wear an outfit a lot like that. Mine was more flashy Maître D than… gangbanger or whatever your angle is. I don’t even know. You kids today.” He glanced into the opening, deeming it and everyone inside suitably doused. “I’m sorry, could you hold on? I’m _just_ in the middle of setting fire to your gang.”

“Go ahead,” Red Hood replied. “Do you think I care if that scum dies?” He wasn’t too concerned, not even for Mama Bear. The news choppers were circling; Batman was probably on his way already.

“Don’t know.” The Joker shrugged, still grinning. “I just wanted your attention.”

“You’ve always had my attention,” Red Hood replied with what sounded like a hint of admiration… or hatred. It was hard to tell sometimes. “But what I really wanted as an audience with you.”

“I'm sorry,” the Joker said mildly, flipping open his lighter, “that seems to imply that you organized this little clambake.” He tried getting the lighter to hold a flame, but only managed a few sparks.

“I did.” Red Hood sounded slightly offended by the Joker’s scepticism. “Did you seriously think I was blowing things up for shits and giggles? Oh, what am I saying? Of course you did. Well, no. The endgame was always to get Black Mask so desperate he’d bust you out of Arkham. He was the only one with the connections to pull it off.”

“You can’t trust anybody,” Black Mask murmured from inside the van.

“So I’ve been bamboozled,” The Joker said quietly. “Oh, my.”

“I wouldn’t undersell it,” Red Hood said, crossing his arms. “It took a lot of work to bring about our reunion.”

“Reunion?” That certainly piqued the Joker’s interest, even as he was struggling to get the lighter to work. “Have we met before?”

“Yes,” Red Hood said darkly, “we have.”

“Well… here’s to warm memories.” The Joker finally managed to get the lighter to hold a flame and dropped it inside the van, relishing at the resulting screams. He extended his arms and took an elaborate bow while the Red Hood looked on, having not moved an inch.

There was a great _whoosh_ from the sky and Batman’s jet flew overheard, unleashing a torrent of white foam that put out the fire, coating both the Joker and the van in the process. The jet circled back around, unleashing a long hook on a wire that snagged the back of the Joker’s jacket and carried him up into the air. As the wire passed by the Red Hood, he leapt onto it and swung around once before balancing himself. He pulled out a knife and cut the wire, sending both him and the Joker plummeting into the river below.

Batman’s jet soared over the impact site a short time later, but his radar couldn’t pick up any sign of either combatant in the water. Batman gritted his teeth, tempted to beat his fists against the controls in frustration.

“I’ve got him.” Dick’s voice came through the intercom; the damn kid had hacked his frequency. “You want him? Meet me at Solomon Wayne Courthouse.” Well, the boy had always had a taste for theatrics. Batman scowled, pulling his jet back up into the air. There was nothing else left for him to do but give into Dick’s, no, the Red Hood’s, demands.

* * *

The Joker soared through the door and landed hard on the grimy wood floor of a long-abandoned apartment, unable to catch himself because his hands were tied behind his back. The Red Hood followed him inside, shutting the door with a sharp _snap_ and dumping a brown duffel bag onto the floor. The Joker wheezed out a laugh, easing himself up onto his knees.

“So, what’s the plan?” he breathed, still grinning. “Slumber party? Charades? A little _truth or dare_? Yes! I’ll start with dare.”

The Red Hood knelt down, unzipping the bag, and pulled out a shiny, new crowbar that he had purchased specially for the occasion. He straightened, still kneeling, and met the Joker’s eyes through the lenses of his helmet.

The Joker’s smile slipped off his face. “Or… maybe I’ll just go with truth.”

The Red Hood surged fluidly to his feet, advancing on the Joker, who slid back so his bound hands were supporting his weight as he edged away. The Red Hood raised the crowdbar and brought it down against the Joker’s cheek, knocking him to the floor, before going in for another strike, this time to his torso. Then he struck again and again and again, the Joker grunting with each impact.

“Tell me,” the Red Hood breathed raggedly, stepping back to observe his handiwork, “how does that feel?”

“Aaagh.” A trickle of blood left the Joker’s lips. “You know, it only hurts when I laugh.” He let out a pained groan before his grimace turned to a smile. “But, hey… I gotta know. Who are you? You said we knew one another, and you do seem really familiar.” He smile broadened as he began to speculate. “We double at the prom? Or maybe blow up a school bus together?”

“No.” The Red Hood beat the crowbar against his open palm, taking little notice of the blood it transferred to his glove. “I’m just something you helped make.”

“That’s pretty cryptic,” the Joker said, his voice getting stronger as his smile did. “Heh. But interesting. Tell me more.”

“Sure.” The Red Hood leaned in. “Listen up.” He grabbed the Joker by his collar and dealt another blow with the crowbar, his own blood singing with the Joker’s exclamations and the sounds of metal hitting flesh, both hard and wet at the same time. Like music to his ears.


	13. Decide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman takes the Red Hood's bait, both of them determined to end things once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of dialogue-borrowing with some alterations.

The Solomon Wayne Courthouse, named after Bruce’s great-great-great grandfather, stood out in Park Row due to its Romanesque pillar style, white marble and the large statue of the blindfolded lady Justice and her scales coming out of the upper level like the front of an old ship. While it wasn’t the largest courthouse the city held, it was by far the oldest.

Batman parked his car behind the courthouse, eyeing the grimy white stone with suspicion. He didn’t like the idea of going inside when he had no idea where Dick would be. This wouldn’t be a problem with most criminals, but most criminals hadn’t been trained by Batman himself. Given Dick’s obvious emotional instability, this was a terrible idea.

“Hello.” The Red Hood was leaning against the doorframe of the back entrance. Even in those two syllables, his voice sounded strained, and the effect only amplified as he continued speaking. “So glad you could make it.”

“This ends tonight,” Batman said quietly, taking a few steps towards the door. “All of it.”

The Red Hood disappeared inside. “Nobody knows that better than me.” By the time Batman reached the door, his quarry was nowhere in sight. Dick didn’t seem in a fighting mood at the moment, however, so Batman braved his doubts and continued inside.

Dick’s voice echoed off the walls. “I brought you here for a reason, Bruce.” Batman headed towards the sound, switching on his nightvision to compensate for the darkened halls.

“What reason?”

“You’ll see.” Dick’s voice was getting fainter. Batman picked up the pace. “I’m not here to fight… not yet, anyway.”

“Where’s the Joker?” Batman demanded.

“Patience, Bruce.” There was a hint of teasing in the boy’s voice, but Batman could tell his heart wasn’t in it. Maybe it was the last vestiges of his old compulsion to get Bruce to crack a smile while in uniform, a ghost from a happier time. Bruce wished he had let him win more often. He wished they had done a lot of things more often… one-on-one basketball sessions without the pretext of training, watching whatever sappy movies Dick was into that week (he had insisted on watching _It’s a Wonderful Life_ every Christmas), just _being there_. Dick had always craved the attention, _thrived_ on it.

“I want proof the Joker is still alive,” Batman insisted.

“You’ll get it,” Dick snapped, his irritation bouncing between the walls. “This meeting is on my terms. Things will progress when I am ready for them to progress.” Bruce had handled his fair share of Dick’s anger and frustration over the years, but the anger vibrating in Dick’s voice was unlike anything he’d handled from the boy before. The years had not been kind to him.

“I understand,” Batman replied, hoping to calm him a little. He really didn’t want this to end in violence. All he wanted was to stop Dick from doing something they would both regret, and to help him. Bruce wanted his son back home, where he could get help, where he could heal.

Dick’s voice floated through the air again. “This way.” A door opened and shut in the distance. Batman dashed to catch up, his heart pounding beneath the kevlar. He pushed open the door to find the largest courtroom in the building. The Red Hood was already at the front, standing behind the witness stand with his hands splayed on the desk. Batman approached slowly, his soft footsteps echoing in the chamber despite his caution. He’d have to remember this room’s acoustics if he ever ended up fighting in here.

“You took your time, old man,” Red Hood said in that half-teasing way that seemed to suggest he just didn’t have the energy to commit to it.

“I didn’t want to alarm you.”

“How considerate.”

“Why did you choose this place?” Batman asked. “Is somebody on trial? Where’s the Joker?”

“The Joker is nice and secure in a separate location,” Red Hood replied calmly. “If you’re good, maybe I’ll take you to him… after we have a little chat.”

“Of course, Dick.” Batman glanced at both the prosecution and defendant’s seats, feeling Dick’s eyes on him like a sunburn. After a moment of consideration, he took a seat at the defendant’s table. “I take it I’m the one on trial here.”

“Very astute, Bruce.” The pair eyed each other for a moment.

“I assume you have made sure nobody will be inside this building tonight?”

“Obviously.”

“In that case…” Batman pulled back his cowl. “Perhaps this conversation will go better if we’re both ourselves.”

Red Hood chuckled. “Look at you. You’ve aged. I guess you’ve got a point…” He pressed a button on the back on his helmet, which opened a panel at the base of his skull. The Red Hood pulled off his helmet and set it on the judge’s desk. He still wore a domino mask similar to the one he had worn as Robin. It seemed oddly fitting, given the situation. The two years had certainly changed him—he had grown into his ears and his jaw had filled out—but he was still unmistakeably Dick Grayson, the first Robin, the boy Batman had held in his arms while his costume and charred flesh still smoked from the explosion that had killed him.

“Dick,” Bruce said softly through the barbed wire in his throat.

“Yes,” Dick breathed.

“Just give yourself up and hand over the Joker. I don’t want to have to fight you. Whatever you want to talk about here, we can do it at home.”

Dick’s lips trembled for a moment before he bared his teeth, wrapping his fingers around a knife resting on the table. “You just don’t get it, do you? Wayne Manor isn’t my home anymore. It hasn’t been in a long time. I can’t give myself up. Events have been set in motion that you will be _powerless_ to stop.”

“Dick, please. I can help you. I know what happened.” If he couldn’t calm Dick down, things were going to get ugly. Fast.”

“Oh, you got to talking with Ra’s?” Dick tossed his knife in the air and caught it like it was just another day and he was playing with Batman’s utility knives again, despite the countless times Bruce had told him to leave them alone. “Does it make it easier for you to think that my dip in his Fountain of Youth turned me rabid? Or is this just the real me?”

“This isn’t the real you, Dick. You’re not well. You need help.”

“When I’m through with you tonight,” Dick growled, “I won’t be the one needing help, I _assure_ you.” The situation was already deteriorating. Breathing heavily, Dick climbed over the divider separating the witness stand from the judge’s seat, agitatedly shifting his weight from foot to foot as he glared down at Bruce. “This is a place of justice, Bruce, and that is what I’m going to get tonight. I’m done waiting for you to do something yourself. Now, I’m taking matters into my own hands.”

“Look, Dick, you have every right to be angry at me, I know. I’m sorry failed you. _Please_ , let me put it right.”

Dick’s eyes narrowed behind the lenses of his mask. “And what would you do to achieve this?”

“Anything, Dick. Anything.” Bruce’s throat was making it hard to talk.

“Anything, huh?” Dick threw his helmet to the floor at such an angle that it rolled to rest at Bruce’s feet. “I’ll hold you to it, then.” He pulled out a switch from inside his jacket. “Keep up… old man.” He pressed the button and a loud _beep_ prompted Bruce to leap away from the table. The explosion still hit him, but it was more pressure than anything else. By the time the debris cleared and Bruce could breathe again, Dick had disappeared.

“Damn it,” Bruce muttered, pulling his cowl back on. He raced out of the room, down the corridors and out of the building. As far as he knew, Dick didn’t have a vehicle, so the nearest easily traversable rooftop was the best bet. He scaled the building quickly and spotted Dick leaping to another rooftop. Batman gave chase.

As he landed, Dick leapt over him and drove his knife into Batman’s cape, bringing him to his knees. His face contorted in a snarl, Dick drew back his fist and slammed it into Batman’s cheekbone. He hadn’t expected the boy’s mood to change to drastically in the space of less than a minute. He wrenched himself free and tried to seize the boy’s arms, but Dick rolled under him and grabbed the knife again. Batman grabbed a batarang from his utility belt and used it to block Dick’s next strike. He drew back immediately; he didn’t want this to escalate further.

“Calm down,” Batman said, holding his batarang in front of him in case Dick lunged again. “I’m not here for a fight. Just take me to wherever you’re keeping the Joker and I’m all yours.”

“You say that as if you’re in a position to bargain.” Dick wasn’t snarling anymore and his voice was quiet, but his fingers flexed on the handle of his knife. Trying to predict his behaviour was harder than trying to predict the Joker. At least most of the Joker’s crimes revolved around things that amused him, funded his other ventures or screwed Batman around.

“Nobody needs to get hurt,” Batman replied.

“Don’t you think it’s too late for that?” The waver in Dick’s voice put him instantly on edge. The other nights they had clashed had been different. Dick had been more controlled. Now, however, it seemed he was completely ruled by his emotions, which, given their inconsistency, made him infinitely more dangerous.

“It’s not too late to stop this… crusade, of yours.”

“You’re full of shit,” Dick threw over his shoulder as he whipped around and dashed for the next rooftop. Batman followed without a second thought, which allowed Dick to catch him by surprise, grabbing him by the neck and pressing his knife against his throat.

“Now, tell me…” Dick dragged Batman backwards and put his free hand under his chin while his knife pressed deeper onto the skin of the older man’s throat. “What bothers you more? That your greatest failure has returned from the grave? Or that I’ve become a better Batman than you?” Batman grabbed hold of Dick’s wrist and flipped him over his head. The boy landed deftly on his feet in his new position, managing to use the knife to cut Batman’s utility belt off his body before the other man could get a good hold. The pair wrestled over the knife.

“You’re ruling through intimidation and murder,” Batman growled, jerking his head away from the knife. “Just another criminal.”

“I’m what this city needs!” Dick shot back, his hands shaking from the exertion. Batman plunged the knife into the concrete, stumbling backwards. Dick pulled out a grapple line from inside his jacket, wrapping it around Batman’s upper body and shooting the hook onto the wall of a nearby high-rise, sending Batman into the air. He managed to find his footing on a large, battered gargoyle.

While he was untying himself, Dick launched at him again, pinning him to the gargoyle and raining a series of punches on his face, his expression darkening with each strike, his brow furrowing, his teeth clenching. Batman caught his fist and twisted, cracking the knuckles, before hitting him back, shoving him into the wall. He pulled out a small flare from inside his glove.

“Hidden goodies all over, huh?” said Dick. “We’re both just a couple of walking armouries.”

“Maybe so, but let’s see how you do without your toys.” He lit the flare, forcing himself to ignore the sudden look of terror on Dick’s face at the sight of the flame. He dropped the flare onto Dick’s jacket, which caught alight instantly. Dick shoved Batman off the gargoyle in a panic, throwing his jacket away from him, watching it float majestically down until the flames were no longer visible. Batman, who had managed to grab onto the gargoyle’s snout, watched Dick throw his grapple onto another one and leap over him. Batman grabbed the boy’s boot but was knocked into another wall when Dick reached the nearest roof and broke into a sprint.

By the time Batman had regained his footing, Dick was leaping off the edge. He extended a foot and smashed through a window on the building opposite. Batman followed, mimicking Dick’s stance to instead use his momentum to kick him down. Dick landed hard in the bathtub, his head smacking into the tiles on the wall.

“Enough!” Batman roared, standing over Dick’s dazed form. “It’s over.”

Dick shook off the cobwebs in his head and surged to his feet, roaring as he dived for Batman again. Batman easily caught him and slammed him into the tiled wall again, hard enough that several tiles broke loose and smashed on the floor. He grabbed Dick as he bounced off the wall and swatted his head into the opposite one. Dick grabbed a loosened tile and swung wildly, but Batman smacked his hand away and shoved him back. Dick sprung backwards on his hands and righted himself, coming back at Batman with a punch, which Batman dodged before grabbing him and swinging him against the sink, from whence he bounced and smacked his head on the edge of the toilet.

Dick clambered to his feet, groaning, and Batman made to strike again. Dick raised his arms on either side of his head to block the attack, but Batman used the boy’s hands against him and knocked them into his temples. He followed up with a strike to the gut before kneeing the boy in the face and slamming him into the wall by his shirt.

“You say you want to be better than me,” Batman said, barely out of breath. “But it won’t happen. Not like this!” He threw Dick right through the wall and into the next room, where the boy landed on his shoulder, skidded and bounced until he hit the wood-panelled wall and collapsed onto the wooden floor. He lay there, face-down, and let out a groan. Batman stood over him.

“I know I failed you… but I tried to save you, Dick. I’m… I’m trying to save you now.”

Dick pulled a pistol from his holster, aiming it at Batman’s chest as he sat up. “Is that what you think this is about?” Batman backed up a step. “That you let me die?” Dick stood up as if he wasn’t bleeding from at least five different places and had, Batman guessed, at least two broken or fractured ribs. “I don’t know what clouds your judgment worse: your guilt or your antiquated sense of morality.”

Bruce silently scowled at him, deciding to let Dick say his piece now that he had finally decided to be forthcoming. He owed him that much.

“Bruce, I forgive you for not saving me.” Dick’s expression darkened, if that was even possible. “But why, on God’s earth…” He kicked down the nearest door, “… is _he_ still alive?!”

The Joker looked up, blood drying on his chin, and began to laugh. “Gotta give the boy points. He came all the way back from the dead to make this shindig happen. So…” The Joker looked around. “Who’s got a camera? Ooh! Ooh! Get one of me and the kid first, then you and me, then the three of us, and then one with the crowbar. Then—”

Dick smacked the Joker on the back of the head with his gun, sending him shrieking to the ground, where he then shoved the barrel into the Joker’s temple. “You’ll be as quiet as possible,” he threatened softly, “or I’ll put one in your lap first.”

“Party pooper,” the Joker muttered. “No cake for you.”

Dick trained the gun back on Batman. “Ignoring what he’s done in the past… blindly, stupidly ignoring the entire graveyards he’s filled, the _thousands_ who have suffered… you know, I thought—I thought I’d be the last person you’d ever let him hurt.” Dick’s mouth twisted and trembled and Batman was suddenly reminded of the bereaved orphan from the circus. “If it had been you he beat to a bloody pulp, if he had taken you from this world, I would have done _nothing_ but search the planet for this pathetic piece of death-worshipping garbage and sent him off to HELL!”

“You don’t understand,” Batman said as calmly as he could in the face of Dick’s anguish. “I thought you did when you were young, but clearly I was wrong.”

“What? What, your moral code just won’t allow for that?” Dick’s voice trembled, although whether it was from rage or distress, it was hard to tell. “It’s too _hard_ to cross that line?”

“No! God almighty… no. It’d be too damned easy.” Every line on Batman’s face became etched with anger and shadow. He felt it whirling inside him, pooling into his arms and legs. “All I’ve ever wanted to do is kill him. A day doesn’t go by I don’t think about subjecting him to every horrendous torture he’s dealt out to others and then… end him.”

“Aww,” said the Joker. “So you do think about me.”

“But if I do that, if I allow myself to go down into that place…” Batman’s eyebrows knitted together. “I’ll never come back.”

“Why?” Dick whispered. “I’m not talking about killing Penguin or Scarecrow or Dent. I’m talking about _him_.” He pointed the gun at the Joker. “Just him. And doing it because…” Dick’s voice grew thicker with each word, like there was a barricade in his throat. “…because he took me away from you.”

“I can’t.” Batman sighed. “I’m sorry.” His heart was aching at Dick’s betrayed, anguished expression… but he couldn’t do this.

“That is so sweet,” the Joker interjected, but he was ignored again.

Dick aimed his gun at Batman. “Well, you don’t have a choice.” He threw his second gun to Batman, who caught it with cupped hands, stumbling backwards as if it weighed a ton. He stared at it for a long moment.

“I won’t—”

“This is what it’s all been about,” Dick interrupted. “This! You, me and _him_!” He gestured towards the Joker with his gun. “Now is the time you decide.” He stomped through the chair he had tied the Joker to, effectively removing the ropes around him, and dragged him upright to stand in front of him in a typical hostage position with his arm around the man’s neck. “If you won’t kill this psychotic piece of filth, I will!” He turned the gun onto the Joker. “If you want to stop me, you’re gonna have to kill me.”

“You know I won’t—”

“I’m gonna blow his deranged brains out, and if you wanna stop it, you are gonna have to shoot _me_. Right in my face!”

“This is turning out even better than I’d hoped,” the Joker said with a grim sort of amusement.

Batman wasn’t about to do anything of the sort, especially not when Jason was still unaccounted for. He dropped the gun and stepped away, just as Kid Flash’s voice sounded in his ear communicator.

“Batman?” he said over the link.

“It’s him or me!” Dick roared. “You have to decide.”

“Here,” Batman murmured while Dick was still shouting, but he doubted the finger to his ear would have gone unnoticed.

“I’ve got him,” Kid Flash said. “He’s safe.”

“Decide now,” Dick demanded. “Do it!”

“Good,” Batman murmured. “Get him back home and then track my position. I may need your help. Soon.”

Dick didn’t seem to have noticed the exchange, being too preoccupied with the choice at hand. He pointed the gun at Batman as the older man was about to walk away and hope for the best.  “Him or me? Decide!” The boy was sounding increasingly desperate. Batman couldn’t hold off for any longer. He needed a solution and he couldn’t rely on Kid Flash getting here in time to talk Dick down, if that was even possible at this point. At least, whatever happened, Robin was safe.

Batman slipped a batarang from inside his sleeve, just as he heard Dick begin to put pressure on the trigger. Without waiting for the gunshot, he weaved and the bullet zoomed right on past. Batman whipped around and loosed the batarang, which lodged itself into the gun’s opening just before Dick discharged the gun again.

This time, however, the gun backfired. Dick screamed, dropping both the gun and the Joker, holding onto his bloodied hand.

From his spot on the floor, the Joker let loose a cacophony of hysterical laughter while Dick was kneeling behind him, groaning. “I can’t believe you got him! You expert, rootin’-tootin’, eagle-eyed, Goth-loving marksman. I love it. You managed to find a way to win… and everybody still loses!”

Dick staggered to his feet, holding a switch in his good hand. His face full of ugly, terrifying rage, he pressed the button, lighting the LEDs on an entire table of explosives. Twenty seconds on the clock. Dick dropped the switch, closing his eyes, the white lenses of his mask closing with them. Batman ran for the bomb to disarm it, just as the Joker tackled him to the floor.

“No, don’t spoil it!” the Joker screamed. “This is better.” He pinned Batman to the floor, his hands around the Dark Knight’s throat. “I’m the only one who’s gonna get what he wants tonight. Yes! Bing, bang, _boom_!” Exhausted, Dick collapsed against the wall and slid down onto the floor. “We all go out together! Don’t you just love a happy ending?” He began to laugh again, but it was cut short by Batman punching him in the face. Batman tossed him aside and, with five seconds on the clock, threw Dick out the nearest window.

Batman barely had time to duck for cover himself before the whole place went up, the world turning to flame as he curled up behind an armchair in the corner, his fireproof cape wrapped around him, covering every inch of his body. In that moment, even with the world screaming and burning around him, his only thought was of Dick… hoping, praying, that he would survive this time.

When the world cooled and he could breathe again, Batman dug himself out of the rubble that had accumulated in that short moment and pressed the communicator in his ear.

“Kid Flash,” he coughed, kicking aside the remnants of the bathtub, which had decided to make an encore appearance. “Find Dick. If he’s conscious, he will have made a run for it. I need to find the Joker.”

“On it.” There was a brief _whoosh_ before Kid Flash cut the connection.

Batman dug through the rubble until he found the Joker, dazed but alive, laughing weakly under the blocks of rubble that pinned him in place. “Kid Flash. The Joker’s alive. I won’t be able to join you until the police pick him up.”

“Understood,” Kid Flash said quickly before severing the connection again. Batman got to work freeing the Joker, but his mind and heart were elsewhere. With Dick. He was just a child. Too young. Diana had been right after all. All this, ultimately, was Batman’s doing. If he hadn’t brought Dick into the life so young, if he hadn’t brought him into it at all…

If Kid Flash managed to find him, what then? A part of Batman hoped that he could still be saved, but the more pessimistic side of him believed it was too late, that the boy was far too damaged for that.

Sighing, Batman finished freeing the Joker and cuffed him, listening to the distant sounds of sirens gradually grow louder as they approached.

His partner. His soldier. His fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the end of this story in the series. I considered it, but figured I would be nice for once and not leave you guys with a total downer ending. You might question my so-called "niceness" in later chapters, of course.


	14. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick escapes the brunt of the explosion, but his getaway is halted by a familiar face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The remainder of this story will be a little different from the previous chapters. The movie adaptation section is finished, but I didn't want to end it there. In that case, there will be a few more chapters, but they will be largely different in tone and content. More repairing and re-establishing relationships, less violence.

Dick came to on a fire escape that had detached itself from the building. Groaning, he clambered to his feet, knees buckling beneath him, and squirreled his way out of the twisted, heated metal. A piece of shrapnel had lodged itself into his left side in the explosion. The wound ached and wept but there wasn’t anything he could do about it right now. He scrambled to get his feet underneath him. He had to get out of here before the cops showed up and freed Batman from guarding the Joker (or, hopefully, the Joker’s body).

Pressing his injured palm into the wound to slow the bleeding, Dick slowly worked himself up to a jog. He still had a spare gun strapped to his thigh, he realised, taking comfort in the familiar weight. It acted like a balm on his burning mind and heart, kept them from shattering completely like crystal in extreme heat.

The betrayal was far more agonising than any of his injuries. Why couldn’t Batman have just made a _choice_? Hell, Dick would have preferred if he had chosen to kill him, because then at least he would no longer have to eke out a miserable existence now that his plans had come to fruition. What did Dick have to live for anyway? Drug deals and murder? Yeah, some life that’d be. He’d be looking at an extended stay in Arkham, or maybe even life at Blackgate. That is, if Batman would be willing to risk revealing his identity. Dick Grayson wasn’t exactly a low-profile kind of person and his Dan persona couldn’t last forever.

If only Batman hadn’t pulled him away from the bomb. He had been ready to go. He had accepted it. There was nothing left for him in this life.

The wind picked up suddenly, except it was no wind. Dick pulled his remaining gun as Kid Flash, decked out in his sunny yellow costume, screeched to a halt in front of him.

“What are you doing here?” Dick hissed, pointing the gun right at Wally’s chest symbol. He did not have the time, or the patience, to deal with this right now.

“Batman asked me to find you while he waited for the cops to pick up the Joker,” Wally replied, apparently taking little notice of the gun pointed at him.

“Well…” Dick tried to steady his hand, which was shaking madly. “You found me. What now?” He hadn’t planned for this. He hadn’t factored in Batman asking for help. Kidnapping Robin had been a precaution at best, mostly to prevent the kid from disobeying orders and getting himself caught in the crossfire. He certainly hadn’t expected Batman to accept help from anybody, let alone a Flash.

“I’m taking you home,” Wally said gently.

“And where might that be?”

Wally looked around before speaking. “The Batcave, duh.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Dick snapped, still trying to steady his hand.

“Dude, you’re injured. You need some serious medical attention.” Wally stepped closer, making Dick tighten the hold on his weapon. His aim was slightly worse with his left, but his right was too injured to hold anything.

“I’ll handle my own injuries,” he said. “I’m not going back there. Try taking me and I _will_ shoot.” A weight dropped into his stomach at the thought, but he forced himself to stand his ground.

“As if. You’re shaking too much to hit a sloth.” Wally held out his hand. “Come on, give me the gun. I just wanna help.” Dick didn’t budge, which made Wally let out a quiet groan. “Look, there’s no way you’re getting past me in that state. You can stall all you like, if you’d rather have this conversation with Batman.” He touched Dick’s hand, folding his fingers over the stretched skin on his knuckles. “Dickie, please.”

Dick relinquished his hold on the gun, watching Wally unload it and toss the gun and bullets into the nearest dumpster. That childhood nickname had did something to his insides, making them squirm. No one had called him that in years.

Wally put his hand between Dick’s shoulderblades. “Come on, let’s get you home.” He pressed a finger to the communicator in his ear. “Batman, I’ve got him. We’re headed to the car now.”

“I am not riding in the Batmobile.”

“Bats let me borrow a car,” Wally replied. “He sent it over with remote drive.” They turned a corner and reached a small grey hatchback. Wally grabbed two cloths out of the backseat, wrapping one around Dick’s injured hand and putting the other over his torso injury before pressing his hand back into place to hold it there. After stowing Dick in the passenger seat, Wally pulled off his cowl, threw on a jacket to hide his costume and got behind the wheel.

“You’re pretty keen on giving me my second near-death experience of the night,” Dick said, scowling at Wally’s hands on the wheel.

Wally started the car. “Relax. I’ve got a licence. And my reaction times are better than yours anyway.”

“I’d like to have a few words with whoever let you get a licence.”

“Nice to see you too, Dick.” They pulled out onto the main road. Dick removed his mask and replaced it with a pair of sunglasses. The arms were slightly bent but the lenses had held up surprisingly well, given the events of the evening.

“I don’t know what Batman plans to do with me,” he said. “It’s not like he can turn me in to the authorities and not expect someone to recognise me, and I think we’re both well aware his aversion to killing is utterly inflexible.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. Wally threw him a quick look, which appeared to be somewhat sympathetic.

“Bruce told me how you came back to life,” he said. “Went into excruciating detail. Nearly made me puke.”

“You’re not the only one who feels that way.”

“He also went into a lot of detail about the psychological effects…” Wally gave him a sideways glance. “Must’ve been tough on your own.”

“I managed,” Dick said stiffly. He still couldn’t get the hang of people actually being concerned for his well-being. Sam and Mama Bear were among the few who had even tried reaching out to him recently. And Dick had just betrayed the latter.

“You see, I don’t think you did.” Wally steered the car down a sidestreet. “You haven’t always been a homicidal maniac, Dick. I should know; I was your best friend.”

“Was,” Dick repeated, staring out the side window at the grimy buildings nearby.

“Dick, I—”

“I don’t blame you for moving on,” Dick interrupted. He was surprised to find that it was the truth. He really didn’t. The thought of Wally of all people being stuck in the past was almost sacrilegious. “It’s been two years. You’re not the only one.”

Wally let out a long sigh. “This is about Batman recruiting Jason, isn’t it? That was the final straw for you.”

“Don’t start.” The situation was bad enough without Wally turning into his therapist. He’d buried his negative feelings towards his replacement a long time ago; it wasn’t the kid’s fault. But he could still blame Bruce.

“Just hear me out, okay?” Wally said quietly. “Look, I’m sure it made you feel like shit, but you need to hear the whole story.”

“Whatever.”

“Batman didn’t take your death well,” Wally went on. “Like, at all. He spent a year between Robins and, man, I could see him losing it. He needed a Robin to keep him from going completely off the deep end. And before you say anything, I know Robin was important to you because your mum gave you the name and maybe it was wrong of Bruce to pass the title on. But, look, it happened.”

“Wow. I feel so much better already.”

“Dick… nobody forgot about you.” Wally reached over and poked Dick’s cheek. “I mean, how could we? You were the first sidekick… or kid hero or whatever name we use these days. Anyway, first. Yeah. Half the tech in the Mountain came from your designs. You were a founding member of our Team.” Wally visibly swallowed. Dick might’ve been touched if they’d had this conversation a year or two ago. “You were an amazing hero and a wonderful person, Dick. Maybe you can—”

“I’m not interested in redemption, Wally.”

“Well, _I’m_ interested in knowing how you can still think we’ve just forgotten about you and moved on.” Wally started the car down a winding road that would eventually lead to the Batcave. “Remember what I said when you showed up in my room months ago? That the team’s a wreck without you? We certainly haven’t moved on. It’s been hellish for Jason. He feels like he’s never going to get out of your shadow.”

The words weren’t quite filtering into Dick’s brain. Batman had replaced him with a new kid and let the Joker carry on his merry murders. Whatever motivations Wally believed drove Batman, he was wrong. He had to be.

“Actions speak louder than words, KF,” Dick said quietly. Wally smiled sadly at the nickname.

“I missed being called that.” He let up on the accelerator, slowing the car a little as they wound through a series of sharp bends. “I’ve missed _you_ as well. Even if you haven’t believed anything I’ve said, you have to believe that.”

“You had Artemis to help you.”

“Yeah… had.” Wally fumbled at the buttons beside the GPS until he pressed one that opened the concealed Batcave entrance. “We broke up a few months after you died. It kind of just… stopped working. I—I realised something pretty important around that time. Remind me to tell you when you’re feeling better.”

“I feel fine.”

Wally snorted. “Sure, because bleeding from an open shrapnel wound is fine.” He brought the car to a stop in an empty parking spot underground. “Come on, let’s get you patched up.”

While Wally hopped out of the car, his movements blurring a little with speed, Dick stayed in the passenger seat and took his time pulling off his sunglasses. He did not want to be here. This wasn’t part of the plan. He wasn’t ready to see how much this place had, or had not, changed in his absence. He wasn’t ready to see Batman again after nearly killing all of them. He wasn’t ready to see Alfred. And was most certainly not ready to see the new Robin again, especially after having just trapped the kid in a shipping container for several hours. He’d been able to divorce his own emotions from the Robin costume while he was the Red Hood, but now he felt raw and vulnerable. If he saw the kid in costume now, he didn’t know what would happen.

Wally opened the passenger side door. “Dude, come on. You need medical attention, like, yesterday.” He held out his hand and waited patiently for Dick to take it, guiding him out of the car, his grip strong and reassuring. His kindness was baffling; Dick was a murderer. He did his best only to kill the people who deserved it, but that was still killing, still against everything Wally stood for as a hero.

Batman, still in full costume, was waiting by the cabinet of medical supplies with a first-aid kit in his hands. “How are your injuries?” He sounded strange, uncertain, guilty. Of course Batman would find a way to blame himself, as he damn well should.

“I can look after him,” Wally said, rather forcefully given that he was speaking to his boss. “I mean, if Alfred’s busy.”

“He’s keeping Jason upstairs,” Batman replied, his eyes still on Dick. “Perhaps you should go home, Wally. This is a… family mater.” He made a move towards Dick, who stepped away from him. He was injured and unarmed. Vulnerable. He had already put himself, unwillingly, at Batman’s mercy. There was no way he would give another inch.

“Give me the first-aid kit,” Wally said, putting a pacifying hand on Dick’s shoulder. “He doesn’t need the Batman right now; he needs a friend.”

Batman handed over the box, his movements stiff and hesitant. “I’ll… I’ll go find Black Canary.” He made for the zeta tubes. Dick let out a long breath.

“Come on,” Wally said, steering him toward one of the stools outside the Batcave’s makeshift operating room. “Let’s get you all patched up.” He sat Dick on the stool. “Shirt off.” Dick pulled the leotard down so it was resting around his waist.

“Did you really think I’d go rooftop-hopping without secure clothing?” he said in response to Wally’s confused expression. “Speaking from experience, it’s not comfortable at all.”

Wally shrugged, pulling off his gloves and replacing them with a disposable pair. “Dunno. I don’t really think about your wardrobe decisions unless they’re especially bad, Mr Green Panties.” He probed the wound in Dick’s side, making the younger boy grab onto his wrist and squeeze until he was almost doubled over from pain.

“I’m not a doll,” Dick snapped. “Be careful with that hand or I will break it, your wrist and every single finger.”

Wally pulled his hand away, wincing. “Sorry, dude. It’s been a while since I patched up a non-superpowered hero. Jason and Artemis won’t let me near them.”

“Because you have the bedside manner of a drunken rhinoceros?” Dick said irritably while Wally used a pair of tweezers to pull out the shrapnel.

“Hey, don’t insult the guy pulling bits of metal out of your body.” Wally snorted but managed to keep his cool, even though Dick could see the laughter threatening to explode out of the upturned corners of his mouth.

Wally finished pulling out the shrapnel and cleaned the wound. Dick was starting to feel a little nauseous from the pain. The Batcave had a decent supply of local anaesthetic, but Bruce didn’t like having to purchase it too often in case people started asking questions. Therefore, it usually wasn’t used unless the patient was practically screaming. Wally would probably have given him some if Dick had asked, but he wasn’t all too fond of the idea of dulling his senses while he still felt on edge.

“Do I need stitches?” Dick asked.

“Hmmm, nah.” Wally dressed the wound. “The shrapnel broke off into little pieces. Doesn’t look so nasty now I’ve cleaned you up. Let’s take a look at that hand…” Wally let out a soft curse while he examined the bloodied and singed skin. The glove had been largely burned off; he’d ditched both gloves in the car since the original injury.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Dick said. “I _was_ just using that hand to stop my shrapnel wound from bleeding everywhere.”

“I’ll be right back.” Wally zipped off and returned with a bowl full of water. He set it on the nearby table and gingerly placed Dick’s hand in it. The water was lukewarm—cool enough that it didn’t aggravate any burns but not so cold that the contact would be a shock to the system. Wally dunked a washcloth in the water and gently started cleaning the blood and traces of gunpowder off the angry skin.

“I’m not completely helpless,” Dick said irritably. “I can do this myself.”

“I know.” Wally kept at it, blood swirling through the water like clouds. “Humour me?”

Dick groaned quietly. “Fine. Whatever.” To be honest, all he wanted to do was curl up in a corner and go to sleep, which was strange. Sleeping usually meant nightmares.

Wally finished cleaning, stripped off his stained gloves and dried Dick’s hand with a fresh towel. “That’s the best I can do without scrubbing the skin.” He gently wrapped a bandage around it. “It’s not bothering you too much, is it?”

“Not really,” Dick replied. It itched a little, but he could handle it.

“If you say so.” Wally didn’t look entirely convinced, but finally let his hand go to examine the blossoming bruises on his friend’s face, his fingers lingering for a second longer than one’s usually would, even brushing Dick’s cheek with his thumb. Dick could feel blood filling his face at the contact and was both grateful and disappointed when Wally drew away.

“You’re gonna look like a hungover rainbow in the morning,” Wally said. “Bruce came at you _hard_ , didn’t he? Are you hurt anywhere else? Ribs?” He didn’t wait for Dick’s reply before gently pressing the ribs on the side of Dick’s body that hadn’t been punctured. Dick jerked violently in pain and would have fallen to the floor if Wally hadn’t caught him.

“Ow,” Dick said calmly after righting himself.

“Anywhere else?” Wally asked hesitantly as if afraid of the answer. He hadn’t let go of Dick’s biceps since catching him.

“Nothing we wouldn’t have dealt with on a routine mission.” To be honest, Dick was aching everywhere, but he just chalked that up to general bruises and muscle fatigue. He was going to feel like hell in the morning, not that he didn’t already, if the gasp of pain he couldn’t stifle while putting his leotard back on was any indication.

Wally pulled off his jacket and put it around Dick’s shoulders. “You’re shivering.”

“We _are_ in the Batcave. Kinda chilly.”

Wally cracked a small smile and passed him some tablets and a glass of water. “Take those for the pain. I’ll be back in a minute.” He zipped up the stairs to the manor while Dick downed the tablets. Setting the empty glass aside, he struggled to his feet and put his arms through the jacket sleeves. He swayed on the spot for a moment before steadying himself and crossing the room.

The Batcomputer looked the same as it had years ago, down to the precise angle at which Bruce left the chair when not in use. Dick rested a shaking hand on the back, feeling the familiar curved leather under his palm. Memories assaulted him—donning the Robin costume for the first time, learning his way around a computer, eavesdropping on the police radio to improve his English, bringing Tony Zucco to justice together with Batman.

This place… the air hung heavy with the memories, yet it looked exactly the same as it had the last time Dick had been here, a lifetime ago.

Except for one little detail. There was a new display cabinet in the corner, separated from the others which held old costumes that he and Batman had retired after replacing them with improved versions. The new cabinet was circular and lit the brightest of them all. About halfway there, Dick realised that the red-and-black-and-yellow shape was his old costume. Dick’s stomach was filled with nails and he staggered closer in a daze. Batman… Bruce… he had kept it, put it on display like it was his most prized possession… like it actually meant something to him.

Dick finally reached the cabinet, his legs crumpling beneath him, sending him reeling onto the cold floor. He’d kept it.

He’d kept it.

“Dick?” Wally’s voice floated through the heavy air. “Where are… oh.” Warm fingers touched Dick’s neck, sliding down to his shoulders. “You okay, dude?”

“He kept it,” Dick breathed, unable to articulate any other words in this moment. Time had slowed and he felt like he was breathing smoke instead of air.

“Of course he kept it, Dickie,” Wally said gently as he began to rub slow circles on the younger boy’s back. There was a nail in Dick’s throat that made it difficult to swallow. “He loved you. He still does. You’re his son.”

“I don’t… I can’t…” Dick’s heart was clenching in on itself. “He…”

“ _Recognised: Batman, 02. Black Canary, 13_.”

Wally helped Dick stand. The younger boy quickly whipped on his glasses. The last thing he needed right now was everybody knowing just how close to tears he had been over a damn costume in a display cabinet. Wally gave his shoulder a quick squeeze before moving away.

Batman and Black Canary entered the main cave from the zeta chamber. Dick and Wally met them halfway.

“Dick,” Black Canary said quietly. “When Bruce told me, I didn’t… oh, you poor thing.” She looked like she wanted to hug him but held back, for which Dick was grateful.

“He’s pretty tired,” Wally said on his behalf. “It’s been a hell of a night.”

“You two should go to bed,” said Batman. “I had Alfred prepare Dick’s old room. Stay with him, West.”

“I will,” Wally promised, gently steering Dick towards the stairs.

“We’ll talk later,” Black Canary called after them. “And as for you, Bruce, get talking. Now.”

“I’ll tell you what I know,” Batman replied. From the tone of his voice, Dick inferred that he really meant ‘I’ll tell you what I _want_ you to know.’ Whether that included the whole Red Hood thing, Dick couldn’t entirely be certain. If his exhaustion hadn’t chosen that precise moment to wrap its hazy tendrils around his entire body, he might have been more concerned. But for now, he just wanted to _sleep_. It still unsettled him. He couldn’t recall the last time he had actually wanted sleep, rather than merely recognising it as an unfortunate physical necessity.

Dick and Wally encountered nobody on the way through the familiar oak-panelled corridors to Dick’s room. The room itself looked almost the same, perhaps a little less cluttered. The collection of electronics and assorted components that had once lived on his bedside table was long gone, save for the digital alarm clock he had constructed himself and insisted on keeping, even though Bruce and Alfred had thought the thing was hideous and bought him countless expensive replacements which he, in turn, had given to friends as the world’s dumbest running joke.

“So, they finally stopped complaining about my clock?” Dick asked, not sure if he was amused or depressed by the sight.

“I didn’t even know they kept it,” Wally replied, his hand still on Dick’s back even though he really didn’t need to have it there.

“God, it’s hideous,” said Dick. “I was such a dumbass little kid.”

Wally chuckled. “We both were. I’m amazed M’gann and Artemis didn’t team up and murder me.”

“You were such a creep, dude. I was embarrassed to be around you.”

“At least I didn’t cackle!” They laughed, Dick doing his best impression of the source of Wally’s compalint. His voice had deepened a bit during his time away. The two ended up holding onto each other for support with no idea why they were still laughing. Once they had calmed down, Wally gave Dick a quick squeeze before letting him go.

“I’ll lend you some pyjamas for tonight,” Wally said, still slightly out of breath. Just as he finished his sentence, there was a knock on the door.

“Master Wallace, Master Dick?” came Alfred’s voice. It felt strange hearing his formal mode of address after so long. It was almost like being thirteen years old again.

Wally opened the door. “Hey, Alfred. I thought you were keeping Jay busy.”

“Young Master Jason has, at last, gone to sleep.” Alfred handed Wally a pile of clothes. “I took the liberty of asking Master Bartholomew to bring some spare pyjamas. I’m afraid they will have to suffice for tonight, Master Dick. I will purchase better-fitting attire as soon as possible.”

“It’s okay,” Dick replied, not really knowing what else to say. Alfred was very deliberately acting natural. “I’ve got some clothes at my apartment.”

“I will mention that to Master Bruce. For now, do get some rest, young sirs. It has been a dreadfully long day.” And with that, he left. Dick was grateful Alfred hadn’t broken character to go on some great emotional monologue or, heaven forbid, envelop him in an enormous bear hug.

Wally passed Dick the pyjamas. “I know I’m not supposed to leave you alone, but I need to change and my PJs are down the hall. Get changed. I won’t be long.” He zipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Dick slid Wally’s jacket off his shoulders, neatly folding and placing it on top of the set of drawers for Wally to grab later. He changed slowly, his eyes wandering around the room again. Aside from some tidying, neither Alfred nor Bruce seemed to have changed much. The place was spotless; Alfred probably still came in every day as if Dick had never been gone.

Dick finished dressing, buttoning up Wally’s pyjama shirt as he sat heavily on the end of his bed. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to escape the relative security of the manor after years of run-down motel rooms and cheap apartments in the roughest corners of the world, but what could he do if he stayed? He didn’t want Black Canary’s therapy. He didn’t need it. He’d found a way to cope with his problems, and that involved getting out there and finishing the job Batman wouldn’t.

Dick’s eyes fell onto the Flying Graysons poster on the wall opposite. He had to do this for them, for people like them… didn’t he?

For first time since waking in that Pit, Dick could see his mother’s face, almost like she was right in front of him again. He could make out the gentle curve of her warm smile, the smell of apples and cinnamon, her arms around him, singing his favourite lullaby.

She wouldn’t have wanted this for him. At least as Robin, he’d been happy, a bright little bird flitting about as if gravity and danger did not exist. But as the Red Hood…

Dick closed his eyes, resting his elbows on his knees, and sung a few lines of the lullaby under his breath. His family—Mum, Dad, Auntie Karla, Uncle Rick, his cousin John—would have been appalled and afraid of what he had become. What he’d done to the dealers… it was practically what Tony Zucco had done to the circus, to him, to his family. He was little better than a protection racketeer.

“ _I’m so sorry_ ,” Dick said, speaking Romani aloud for the first time in years. “ _Mother, Father, Rick, Karla, John… please forgive me_.”

“Dick?” Wally’s head poked through the doorway. “You okay, dude?”

“I’m… fine.” Dick let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes. “Just thinking.”

“About your family.” It wasn’t a question. Wally stepped into the room properly, wearing yellow pyjamas and carrying a sleeping bag and pillow. “I… kind of understood what you were saying.” He dropped his burdeen and sat down beside Dick, putting an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Are you… reconsidering?”

“If I said yes,” Dick said slowly, “would you keep it to yourself until I’ve made up my mind?”

“Of course, dude.” Wally pulled Dick closer so the younger boy’s shoulder was nestled in his armpit of all places. “I’ll keep it quiet. I’m just glad you’re thinking about it. We’re all here to help you. There’s a reason Batman is bringing Black Canary up to speed, you know.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Dick said shortly.

“Hey, don’t get snippy with me, Mister.” Wally rubbed his knuckles on Dick’s head, prompting him to jerk away and aim a quick jab at the speedster’s ribs. “Ow! You play rough!”

“And that surprises you?”

Wally pulled Dick back to his side. “No, not really. I’d just forgotten how pointy your fingers are.”

“Need another reminder?”

“No! Quit it!” Wally grabbed Dick’s arms and the pair ended up on the floor. Dick somehow managed to get the upper hand, straddling Wally’s hips and pinning the speedster’s arms.

“Give up?” he panted. Wally grinned, rolling Dick onto his back and pressing him against the floor.

“Never.”

The two boys wrestled until Dick was in too much pain from his injuries to continue. Wally helped him into bed.

“Get some rest,” he said quietly. “I’ll be right down here.” He retreated to his sleeping bag on the floor at the foot of Dick’s bed. Dick had half a mind to ask him to sleep up there with him to help stave off the nightmares, but found his confidence failed him when he opened his mouth.

“Good night, Dick,” Wally said from his place on the floor.

“Good night, Wally.”


	15. Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The light of day brings about uncomfortable conversations and decisions that have to be made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the main reasons I've been holding off on posting this chapter is because there's a real risk I'll screw it up and shatter all possibility of character plausibility.

“Dude, you look awful.” Wally stopped Dick in the hallway on the way to breakfast. “Did you even sleep?”

“I don’t remember, so that’s a good sign, right?” That was a lie. Dick had lain awake, staring at the Flying Graysons poster half-illuminated in the moonlight. It was strange to think of how convinced he had been, months ago, that he had been doing the right thing.

“Maybe breakfast will put some colour back into your face,” Wally said, pressing Dick on ahead. “How are you feeling today? Do you need—?”

“Wally,” Dick said sharply. “Shut up.”

“Sorry, dude.” They reached the dining room, where Alfred was placing a number of heaped plates in the centre of the table, near where Jason sat. Dick stopped short.

“Good morning, sirs,” said Alfred. Jason looked up, deliberately directing his gaze to Wally instead of Dick, who tried not to let it bother him.

“Mornin’, Alfred.” Wally pushed Dick into a chair before zooming into the one beside him. “What goodies have we got this morning?”

“You’ve got eyes,” Jason said irritably, forking a few pieces of bacon onto his plate.

“Yeah, they were very helpful when I rescued you last night,” Wally replied casually, grabbing half the bacon left on the plate. He pushed a few rashers and eggs onto Dick’s plate before tucking in.

Alfred poured glasses of orange juice for everyone. “Seeing as Master Jason appears to have misplaced his manners this morning, I shall thank Master Wallace on his behalf.”

“Aw, shucks, Al. I’m blushing.” Wally fanned himself. Dick elbowed him.

“I can’t believe I actually missed you,” he grumbled.

“Don’t kid yourself, Dickie. I’m a magnificent human being.”

Both Dick and Jason choked on their food. Wally made to stab Dick with his fork but stole a piece of his bacon instead. Dick grabbed the speedster’s wrist and ate the bacon right off the fork.

“Aw, come on!”

“Well, it was mine in the first place.”

“It became mine as soon as my fork touched it.”

“If you’re gonna play it that way, it became mine as soon as it went in my mouth.”

Wally smirked and Dick just knew he was about to say something dirty. “If the world worked like that—”

“Do you really want to finish that sentence in the presence of a Robin, a mass-murderer and the man who raised both us _and_ Batman?” Dick interjected.

Wally froze with his mouth still open. “…No?”

“Good answer, you creep.” Dick poured himself some more orange juice; he needed the vitamins badly, given he’d barely been able to eat all week from anxiety.

“Is Bruce coming to breakfast?” Jason asked Alfred.

“I should hope so,” Alfred replied, frowning at the doorway. “We do have a guest.”

“Like that’s ever made a difference,” Jason muttered, stabbing a sausage with irritation.

“Perhaps I should check on him.”

“No!” Jason said quickly. “I’m… sure he’ll come up if he feels like it.” Dick didn’t miss the glance in his direction. He wasn’t really surprised that Jason was afraid of him. He would have been a bit offended if he wasn’t, to be honest, and concerned for the kid’s mental health.

“I’ll zip down to the Batcave,” Wally offered, tossing his napkin aside. He was gone before anyone had a chance to respond. Alfred set a cup of tea in front of Dick with a jug of milk and the sugar bowl. Dick’s preferences tended to vary with his mood, so Alfred usually left it up to him. Today, he didn’t feel like adding anything.

“Thanks, Alfred,” Dick said, blowing on the surface of the steaming liquid. He let it sit for a while as he chatted with Alfred, doing his best to keep the conversation light. He took an experimental sip as Wally and Bruce, stubble darkening the latter’s jaw, entered the dining room. Alfred set a large mug of coffee in front of Bruce before filling up his plate for him. Everybody ate in silence for a while, until Jason got fed up and threw down his fork.

“So, we’re just going to ignore the elephant in the room?”

Bruce took his time setting down his mug. “I’ve filled Black Canary in on the details. She’s agreed to counsel Richard, if that’s what he wants.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Jason shot back. “What if he just wants to go back to murdering and kidnapping people?”

“You’re the only person I’ve kidnapped, per se,” Dick replied calmly. “Unless you count disembodied heads.”

“Really, dude?” Wally yelped. “ _Really_?”

“Of all the things I’ve done these past few months, _that’s_ what shocks you?” A tiny nudge of guilt made Dick shut his mouth. The murders and beheadings of the drug lords’ lieutenants had seemed necessary at the time, but now he was wondering if he had been too heavy-handed. He was wondering about a lot of things right now.

“If Richard decides he prefers to continue on that path,” Bruce said calmly, “I will be forced to take certain measures. However, the events of last night seemed to me that they were the endgame. Am I correct, Richard?”

Dick chose not to answer, settling for a scowl at Bruce’s continued use of his legal name. It was unlike Bruce to call him that. Then again, it was unlike Bruce to do a lot of things… like replacing his dead kid with a younger model. Or, well, so Dick had thought.

Bruce, at least, seemed to realise that he had said something wrong. Instead of bothering to find out what, however, he kept talking. “Provided Richard cooperates, I’m sure we can keep this quiet. The League and the GCPD don’t need to know what he’s been up to, although it would be prudent to inform the police of Richard’s presence so we can work through the legal red tape around bringing someone back to life.”

_If I’m here long enough for that to be an issue_ , Dick thought privately. He still wasn’t entirely sold on staying. Not bothering to respond to Bruce, he grabbed a piece of toast and piled eggs and bacon on top of it to eat together. Wally touched his elbow, unseen by the others, before continuing to eat. Jason finished eating and wordlessly left the table. Dick polished off his toast before reclining in his chair, cup of tea in hand.

“I’m surprised by your willingness to keep me in the house,” he told Bruce coolly.

Bruce looked taken aback. “Where else would I have taken you?”

“An orphanage or juvie come to mind. Wouldn’t be the first time I ended up there. Or, you know, you could’ve just dumped me at the police station and said I had amnesia or some shit so they’d take me off your hands. I wouldn’t want to be a _burden_ , now would I?” Dick could almost taste the bitterness in his own voice.

“I… that’s not… no.”

Dick narrowed his eyes. “Strange. I got the impression these past couple years that maybe I really was only ever a charity case.”

“Dick, you know that’s not true,” Wally interjected. “I thought I’d finally gotten through to you.”

Dick glared into his cup. “Things just don’t add up.”

“What things?” Bruce asked quietly. He reached out across the table, but Dick retreated further back.

“I believe we’ve already discussed this at length.” Dick struggled to keep his voice even. “I’m not interested in repeating myself.”

“Dick…” Bruce looked stricken. “When I caught up with the Joker after he’d taken you from me, he was in a body cast for six months by the time I was done with him.” He clenched his jaw, looking away. “I didn’t tell you because I was trying to stop you from doing something irreversible… and I was ashamed of myself for losing control like I did. Dick… my son…”

“Don’t.” Dick slammed his cup on the table. “Don’t you dare call me that. I’m not your son. I never was. That was _your_ decision, remember?”

“I didn’t want to disrespect your—”

“You adopted Jason!” Dick burst out. “He had parents too, didn’t he?”

“Dick, I’m—”

“Don’t you dare apologise to me.” Dick blinked back the moisture in his eyes. “Not now. Not after everything that’s happened.”

Bruce rose from his seat and rounded the table. Dick felt sick from the emotions he’d balled deep inside him, his stomach coiling with fear of the man towering over him. Even Wally and Alfred looked worried.

Bruce swooped down and wrapped his arms around Dick, pressing the shaking boy to his chest. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted softly. “I’ve made too many mistakes to deserve your forgiveness. I know that. I… I _am_ sorry, Dick. I know it’s not enough. I know it won’t fix things. But it’s the truth.” He squeezed Dick tighter, rubbing circles into the boy’s back. “I love you, Dick. I thought you knew that.”

Dick squeezed his eyes shut, powerless to stop the tears streaming down his cheeks. He heard Wally and Alfred leave the room.

“I… God.” Bruce cleared his throat. “Shh, Dickie, shh. It’s going to be okay.”

“It’s not,” Dick choked. “Don’t lie to me. Just… don’t.”

“All right. I’m going to try and make it okay. Best fix-up job I can manage.”

“You’re a terrible handyman.” Dick laughed weakly. “Can’t even put a bookshelf together. God, you can build a whole supercomputer from scratch but you can’t follow Ikea instructions.”

“Hey, to be fair, those instructions make no sense.” Bruce pulled back a little and brushed the tears off Dick’s cheeks.

“Why did you even buy stuff from Ikea when you’ve got enough money to fund a small country?”

“I was curious.”

Dick snorted. “You know, for the World’s Greatest Detective, you’re a real moron sometimes.”

Bruce laughed, ruffling Dick’s hair. “World’s Greatest Moron, reporting for duty.”

“Oh, God.” Dick suddenly looked out the window.

“What’s wrong?”

“Bruce, you’re cracking jokes. The world’s got to be ending any second now.”

“I resent that.” Both of them laughed. Bruce sobered first, smoothing down Dick’s fringe. “In all seriousness, I want to make up for my mistakes, Dick.”

“Am I a mistake?” Dick hated the neediness in his own voice.

“No. _Hell_ no.” Bruce crushed him to his chest again. “I’ve made so many mistakes _with_ you, but I have never regretted taking you in. I do regret not showing how much I care about you often enough. If you choose to stay, I promise you I will never make that mistake again. I’ll get you the help you need and we’ll be a family again.”

Finally, Dick mustered up the strength to hug him back. “I… I think I’d like that.”

“I’m glad.” Dick could hear the smile in Bruce’s voice.

It was a start. Maybe he didn’t need to be a killer anymore. Maybe the nightmares would go away. Maybe his heart would stop hurting.

Maybe… maybe things would get better.

That was a hell of a maybe.

* * *

 

Dick was forbidden from leaving the grounds of the manor. Bruce sent Alfred to Dick’s apartment to collect his things, ignoring Dick’s protestations that it wasn’t exactly the nicest neighbourhood to wander alone, even though he knew Alfred was more than capable of defending himself. It was the principle of the thing.

“I guess I can’t blame him for not wanting me to run off anywhere,” Dick said dully, folding a sheet of paper into an airplane while lying on his bed. Wally’s airplane landed on his chest.

“You’ll earn his trust with time,” Wally said sagely, folding another plane from his place on Dick’s desk. “Gotta prove you’re really reformed, you know?”

“I’m not sure who will be harder to convince: me or him.” Dick sent his plane flying across the room with a flick of his wrist. “I’m still not entirely sure I want to be here.”

“When are you starting with Black Canary?”

“Not sure yet. She’s off on a mission at the moment.” He caught the plane Wally threw at him. “I don’t know what I want to do, like, if I want to clean up Gotham my way or Bruce’s way or if I even want to go back out there at all.” He sat up, crushing the paper plane in his fist. “All I know for sure is that I still want the Joker dead.”

“Can’t say I blame you,” Wally replied. “He’s done more to you than the rest of us combined. Will you… try again?”

Dick shrugged. “Even if Bruce didn’t have me locked up tighter than an Arkham inmate, I don’t know. It took me more than two years to get to the point where I was in a position to try, and now all that work’s gone out the window. I just…” He sighed. “Something’s got to be done about him, Wally, but I don’t know if I have it in me anymore.” He lay back down, covering his face with both hands. “I’m just… so… tired.” He felt the mattress sink next to him and a light pressure on his shoulder.

“We talking physically or emotionally right now?” Wally asked. “Because you look like you haven’t slept since before you died.”

Dick groaned and shrugged off his hand. “Both. And if you repeat that to anyone, I’ll break both your legs.” Wally was the only person who had shown much interest in what was going on inside his head. Despite everything Bruce had said on that first morning, he had chosen to keep a distance. He was probably trying to give Dick some space to figure things out, but Dick couldn’t help but resent how much time he spent with Jason in comparison, particularly in the Batcave, into which Dick hadn’t dared step foot after his first night back.

“You know I can keep a secret if I really try,” Wally said lightly. “Do you need a hug? I think you need a hug.”

“Sure, Wally, sure. Let me just hug your neck here, _real_ tight…”

“That’s a headlock, Dick!”

“Everyone’s a critic.” Dick dragged Wally closer so the older boy’s face was buried in the bedcovers beside him, muffling his protests. “Ah, blessed peace.” Wally struggled free; Dick let him.

“I don’t remember you being that strong,” Wally said, rubbing his neck. Dick hoped he hadn’t been too rough.

“Well, the last time you had a chance to test my strength, I was a thirteen-year-old kid,” Dick replied. “There’s a reason I was so good at disappearing.”

“So you finally boarded the puberty train, huh?” Wally threw him a rather creepy grin, to which Dick responded by shoving him off the bed.

“Charming as ever, Wally. Charming as ever.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Wally climbed back up, throwing himself over Dick’s legs and lying face-down. “Are you going to think about returning to the hero life?”

“I’ll consider it,” Dick said slowly, “but I don’t know if I will. I haven’t been a hero in a long time. I’ve either been a victim or some kind of self-righteous villain, at least in Batman’s eyes. I don’t think I really want to go out there again as the Red Hood. Even if I did, my influence in Gotham would have taken a nose-dive now that most of my lieutenants are behind bars or dead, not to mention it likely got around that Batman kicked my ass halfway across the city.”

“It’s probably for the best,” Wally said sagely. “You’re better off working with Batman than against him if you want to do anything about all the crime in the city. Otherwise, the two of you are just going to end up getting in each other’s way all the time.”

“You’ve got a point, I guess.”

Wally rolled along Dick’s legs and up his torso.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Dick tried to sit up, but Wally lay across his chest.

“Making you stay down so you’ll go to sleep and stop being so grumpy.” Wally’s head was hanging off the bed, but Dick could hear him clearly all the same. “It totally cramps my style.”

“Don’t kid yourself, dude,” Dick replied. “You have no style. Right, I’m going to start counting. If you don’t get off me by the time I reach five, I will take matters into my own hands.”

“But—”

“One.”

“Dick!”

“Two.”

“No.”

“Three.”

“I’m not moving.”

“Four.”

Wally whined like a puppy.

“Four and a half…”

“Fine! Fine!” Wally rolled off the bed completely and hit the floor. “Happy?”

“I’d be happier if I could have, like, five minutes to myself for once.”

Wally climbed back on the bed, one of his knees digging into Dick’s shin as he clambered over him. “Hey, I’m not unreasonable. I let you use the bathroom by yourself!”

“I would forcibly remove you from the room if you didn’t,” Dick replied. “I’ve been here for a week already. Having a human shadow is starting to get old.”

“I know, Dick.” Wally flopped down on his back. “But Bruce doesn’t want you left alone yet.”

“It’s going to happen eventually. I mean, you’ve got to go home sometime. I’m surprised Barry, Iris and your parents have let you be gone this long. Don’t you have school?”

“Mum and Dad think I’m sick and staying at Barry and Iris’ place. Barry and Iris know better than to ask Bruce what’s going on.” Wally pulled a chocolate bar out of his pocket. “Want some?”

“I don’t want your sticky pocket chocolate.”

“Suit yourself.” Wally unwrapped the bar and tore off a chunk with his teeth. “It’ll get better, you know,” he said with his mouth full. “Black Canary will finish whatever it is she’s doing and then she’ll have a chat with you, figure out being under house arrest is a bad idea and smack some sense into Bruce.”

“Somehow I doubt that’s how it’ll go down,” Dick muttered. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out something in my brain’s broken.”

“Dick…”

“Don’t whine. You’re too old for that.” Dick smoothed the creases on the bedspread beneath him. “I had an especially violent reaction to the Lazarus Pit, even worse than Ra’s al Ghul.”

“You’ve seen Ra’s do his pit thing?”

“Yeah, a few years back. Ra’s had me kidnapped and faked his daughter’s kidnapping to make it look like he and Bruce had a common goal. Really all he wanted was to get Bruce… Batman, really… in a position where he could make his offer to make Batman the heir to his empire or however the hell he phrased it. It was a long time ago. I hadn’t been Robin for very long. Batman tried to get me out of there before Ra’s came out of the pit to spare me the experience. Obviously, that didn’t happen.” Dick shrugged. “I probably took it better than he did, really. Then again, I didn’t have a thing for the guy’s daughter, now did I?”

Wally snorted. “Did Bruce freak?”

“In his own way. He was even quieter than normal for a few days after we got home. But, hey, you know Bruce. He doesn’t let anything slow him down.” Dick stole what was left of Wally’s chocolate, ignoring his complaints. “Doesn’t mean he’s over Talia, though. Bruce keeps up the playboy image because it’s important to protecting his identity, not because he even likes the women he brings home. I mean, they’re pretty and all but even as a kid I could tell none of them were ever serious dating material. Bruce just doesn’t do that. I tried to set him up with Wonder Woman once when I was, like, twelve. He didn’t talk to me for days.”

Wally laughed. “Daddy’s little matchmaker.”

“Shut up!” Dick managed to get out between his own laughter. “They totally like each other, not that Bruce would ever act on it, the big chicken. Same goes for Catwoman. You can sort of tell the difference between the women he’s vaguely attracted to and the women he genuinely has feelings for.”

“How?”

“He doesn’t act on the second group,” Dick said simply. “It’s kind of sad, really. And I swear to God, if you repeat this stuff to anybody…”

“Don’t worry, Dickie.” Wally stole back his chocolate, even though it was barely worth stealing at this point. “I wouldn’t dare.”

* * *

 

Black Canary returned from her mission a few days later, which was just as well. Dick was starting to lose his patience with being on house arrest. Nobody outside the household, Wally and Black Canary even knew Dick was there and Wally had finally gone home. All this put Dick in a rather irritable mood by the time Black Canary came over, although she wasn’t in costume and asked him to call her Dinah. Being Batman’s kid had the occasional advantage, like being able to call heroes by their civilian names and get away with it.

Alfred readied one of the lesser-used sitting rooms in the manor so they could talk in private. Personally, Dick thought it was a bit much, but Alfred wouldn’t hear a word of his protestations and left the pair with a tray of tea and biscuits.

It was strange seeing Dinah in a blouse and skirt; Dick had always pictured her as more of a motorcycle sort of person. Maybe it was the jacket she wore in costume that did it. Or maybe the boots. Whatever. It didn’t really matter.

Dick sat back with a cup of tea that he didn’t especially want, but he needed something to keep his mind off his nerves. He still wasn’t sure where these therapy sessions would be going, or if he even wanted them at all. He hadn’t even figured out what he wanted to say.

Dinah stirred a teaspoon of sugar into her tea, watching Dick as she did so. “Bruce didn’t tell me much, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just the basics. Ra’s al Ghul used his Lazarus Pit to bring you back to life and two years later you took on the identity of the Red Hood to fight crime in Gotham in a… unique way.”

Dick kicked off his shoes and curled up in his seat, an old armchair that was probably older than Bruce’s father. “That about covers it. Is there anything in particular you wanted me to tell you?”

“I’d be interested in hearing your reasons for your new approach,” Dinah said calmly, as if she wasn’t talking about mass murder and strong-arming drug dealers. “I understand Bruce wants me to… fix you, but we can’t even start thinking about how to do that until—”

“I get it,” Dick said. “You want to see inside my head, get a feel for what went wrong, what could possibly make such a good boy turn so bad.”

“Is that truly how you feel?” Dinah asked.

Dick shrugged. “I’m a murderer. A mass murderer. I could possibly even be classified as a terrorist. Those don’t seem like good things to me.”

“You’re right; they’re not.” Dinah hummed thoughtfully as she put down her cup. “Since you recognise that, I’m curious about why you chose to commit these acts.”

“Long story short, I felt like it was the only viable option at the time.” Dick took a sip of his tea, hoping to distract Dinah from the tiny wobble in his voice.

“And why’s that?”

Dick took another sip, reaching for the words, eventually settling on the blunt truth. “Because I wanted the Joker dead.” He took an unsteady breath. “Everything I did in Gotham worked towards that. I chose not to go back to Batman because I knew he wouldn’t see it my way. He’d had plenty of chances to end it himself and he chose not to. I had to take matters into my own hands before any more innocent people were killed by that bastard’s hand.” He took a moment to calm himself. “This is the short version of the story, of course. I’m pretty much ignoring the intervening two years, with the exception of the last few months when I solidified my plans.”

“So, you’re telling me you felt differently before then?”

“Sort of. I still wanted the Joker dead. That was the one thing that never changed.”

“So what did?”

Dick weighed up what he wanted to say. The memories still stung, pricking the corners of his eyes. Wally picking up on his replacement issues was bad enough; he didn’t want to go through that again. “I don’t think I’m ready for that conversation yet,” he said finally. Dinah didn’t press the issue.

“That’s okay. You’ve given me plenty to work with as it is.” Dinah was scribbling in her notepad. Dick ate a biscuit to occupy himself while he waited for her to finish. “So, Dick,” she continued, looking up, “how have you been adjusting to being back home?”

“Badly. I haven’t been allowed to leave the house and I’m going to die of boredom.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” Dinah was trying to hold back a smile. “You’re going to the police station tomorrow to be officially resurrected tomorrow, yes?”

“I can’t wait,” Dick said dryly. “Legal forms are my favourite thing ever, just before making up elaborate cover stories that are almost impossible to keep straight in my head.”

“Have you and Bruce come up with one yet?”

“Kidnapping,” Dick replied immediately. “Hardly the most original, but it’s believable. I’ll have to feign amnesia so we can just sidestep the whole investigation issue entirely. Easier than coming up with a scapegoat, and less morally objectionable.”

Dinah raised an eyebrow.

“Hey, I only go after criminals who I’m sure have actually committed the crime I’m pursuing them for,” Dick said. “I do have standards.”

Dinah chuckled slightly. “That’s good to hear. One last question? Then I’ll let you go.”

“Shoot.”

“What do you plan to do now?”

“Not sure yet. Wally asked me the same question the other day.” Dick drained the rest of his tea. “I don’t think I want to go back to being the Red Hood again, but I don’t know if I want to go back to the hero life, either, or if I even can. The thing that’s annoying me, though, is that I can’t just be Dick Grayson. The life got its hooks in when I was still that little kid fresh from the circus and I can’t go back to just being a civilian. I have to do... something. I just don’t know what.”

“You have time to figure it out,” Dinah said comfortingly. She finished off her tea. “You don’t need to decide right away.”

“I still want the Joker dead, though,” Dick said suddenly. Dinah froze.

“And do you think you will act on that?”

Dick shrugged. “I don’t know if I’ve got it in me anymore. I put everything I had into that last confrontation. Just between the two of us, I didn’t entirely plan on surviving that night.”

Dinah wrote something down, probably something about suicidal tendencies. “Interesting.”

“I’d rather you didn’t share that with anyone,” Dick said. “I barely get time to myself as it is.”

“I’ll keep it between us,” Dinah promised. “For now. If I get the feeling you’re acting suicidal, though, I’ll have to inform Bruce so you can get the care you need.”

“Understood.” They both got up. “Don’t worry about the tea. Alfred will come get it when we leave.” They left together and returned to the foyer, where Alfred was polishing the staircase banisters.

“I should get to the Watchtower,” Dinah said. “I got stuck with Monitor duty.”

“Have fun,” Dick said in a sing-song voice. Dinah rolled her eyes, ruffling his hair.

“You behave yourself,” she said. “Don’t be smart with the police tomorrow.”

“I’m offended, Di. I would never!”

“Sure, Dick.” She gave him a wink and headed upstairs for the disused study that would take her to the Batcave.


	16. Pull No Punches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce takes Dick to the GCPD to get the legal ball rolling on his resurrection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding Bruce's age: I'm working with Word of God from one of Young Justice's co-creators, who says that in season one, Bruce was 32. Since I've pushed back the events of season one a year, he would have been 31 in my weird version so he's 33 now. This is close to my original estimates while drafting this fic.
> 
> Also, I have no idea how legal systems work so I'm making it up.
> 
> Also also, I'm trying to keep Dick from being either too unruffled by events or too wangsty, but I think he might've ended up a bit far on the wangst side of things.

Bruce chose to drive Dick to the precinct himself the next day. They took one of his less ostentatious cars, but it was still a BMW. News of Dick’s reappearance hadn’t hit the city yet, so there was still hope they’d be able to get to the station without incident.

Bruce tuned the radio onto the oldies station, tapping the wheel to the beat of some eighties power ballad that he would never admit to knowing out loud. “Eighties music on the oldies station,” he said. “What is the world coming to?”

“You’re a bit young to start waving your cane around,” Dick replied, sniggering despite the anxiety creeping up on him. “Next you’ll be shouting at kids to get off your lawn.”

Bruce chuckled. “The one thing I look forward to about getting older: being able to do whatever I want and get away with it.”

“You already can. You’re Bruce Wayne. Come on, you’re not even forty yet. All this talk of getting older is starting to freak me out.”

Bruce turned up the radio in response. Dick stuck his tongue out. This was probably the least awkward conversation they’d had since Dick had returned home. The thought sobered him.

“Are you clear on what you’re to tell the police?” Bruce asked.

“Crystal. Kidnapping, memory loss, no idea how the hell I got back to Gotham. Definitely not the most complicated cover story we’ve come up with.”

“The simple ones are the best,” Bruce said. “Just be warned: if Bullock’s there, he might try to push you for more information. Stand your ground. Jim will step in on your behalf. I doubt you’ll have to do much once you’ve told the story. Just sit back and let me handle the rest.”

“Sounds easy enough. Can we get ice cream afterwards? I want ice cream.”

“If you’re good,” Bruce hedged, clearly remembering the incident from when Dick was very young and freaked out at the dentist. Bruce had promised him ice cream if he’d behaved then, too, but Dick had ended up climbing the ceiling light in reception after fleeing the examination room. He still got ice cream, though, so Dick didn’t find the memory nearly as troubling as Bruce seemed to.

“Aren’t I always?” Dick said innocently.

“Very funny.” Bruce pulled into the staff parking lot behind the police station, having made special arrangements to minimise hassle from the public. If word got out Bruce and Dick were here, there would be a sea of reporters out the front in a matter of minutes.

The commissioner was waiting by the back door. Dick was uncomfortably reminded that the last time he saw the man, Dick had left the police to deal with a truck full of slightly crispy drug dealers. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind. He wasn’t the Red Hood right now; he was Richard Grayson, who had just come home from a kidnapping ordeal he could barely remember. He needed to start acting like it. Maybe a few tears wouldn’t go amiss if he waited until Bullock started on him.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us on such short notice,” Bruce said to Commissioner Gordon once he and Dick had drawn level with him.

“It was no problem.” The commissioner adjusted his glasses and took in Dick’s appearance. “We have his fingerprints on file from another case few years back, so it won’t take long to confirm his identity.” He opened the door for them. “You certainly look the part, son,” he said to Dick as Bruce steered the boy inside. “I’d say the identity confirmation is a mere formality at this point.” He shut the door and started to lead them through the station. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to hear what happened to you, Richard.”

“I’ll tell you what I can,” Dick said quietly, “but it’s not much.”

“Every little bit helps, son.” He put a hand on Dick’s shoulder and drew him closer as they passed by a collection of desks where cops were going about their business.

“Is that—?”

“Oh my God. It is.”

“I thought the kid was dead!”

“All right, back to work,” Commissioner Gordon ordered, leading Dick and Bruce to his office. “Bullock, get over here with a fingerprinting kit. Please take a seat,” he said to his guests. Dick sat in the chair opposite Gordon’s in front of the desk while Bruce remained standing, resting a hand on the back of Dick’s seat.

Detective Bullock showed up with the kit. Dick, even as a civilian, was no stranger to the process so it was over fairly quickly. Bullock sent the prints off with a computer tech to scan and match to Dick’s prints on file. Dick was quietly glad he had always worn gloves while working as Robin and the Red Hood. He knew Bruce usually protected such data to prevent the discovery of their identities, but it never hurt to be careful.

“Now that’s taken care of,” the commissioner said, dropping into his chair, “why don’t we start sorting out what’s going on here?”

“Yeah,” agreed Detective Bullock, pulling out a notepad and pen. “What happened to being dead?”

“I got better,” Dick said sarcastically; he had gotten on okay with the detective as Robin, but, honestly, the guy was an ass. Bruce elbowed him. He could have sworn he heard the commissioner stifle a chuckle.

“Let’s stick to the facts, Dick. You can be snarky later.” There was a warning in Bruce’s voice that Dick only caught because he was used to being in the kind of situation where he had to lie to the police. He’d always had an unfortunate habit of mouthing off when people annoyed him, although he was usually more underhanded about it.

“Okay. Sorry.” Dick shifted in his seat, putting on a show of gathering his thoughts. “My memories of the last two years are really fuzzy. I mean, I barely have any memories at all. I know I was never killed, obviously. I remember being… grabbed by somebody. I think there might have been a truck involved? I don’t know.” He frowned deeper, like he had to dig up the memory with his bare hands.

“Come on, kid,” Bullock said impatiently. “Give us something.”

“I would if I could,” Dick replied.

“You were gone for two years,” Bullock pressed.

“I think I might have been drugged with something. I remember a cloth on my mouth and blacking out and then… nothing. I don’t even know how I got to Gotham.”

“I found him wandering the streets near the Wayne Enterprises building when I went out for lunch last week,” Bruce contributed.

“Why didn’t you bring him here immediately?” Commissioner Gordon asked. He didn’t look happy.

“I just wanted to go home,” Dick replied, grabbing Bruce’s sleeve in a way he knew would look instinctual, like a kid craving comfort from a parent. His fingers left inky spots on Bruce’s shirt.

“He was feeling unwell and disoriented,” Bruce added. “My butler, Alfred, has extensive medical training so I felt it prudent to take him home rather than expose him to potential media attention had we showed up in an emergency room. I understand I should have reported this sooner and I apologise for that.” He patted the hand Dick was still using to grip his sleeve. “I was not thinking clearly. You have children, Jim. I’m sure you understand.”

The commissioner’s stern demeanour evaporated. “Yes, I do.”

“I hate to break up the mother’s club over here,” Detective Bullock butted in, “but we still got nothing.”

“I already told you I don’t remember,” Dick said irritably. Maybe this would be a good time to break out the waterworks. “I’ve _tried_ , okay? I’m the one who lost two years of my _life_!” His voice cracked on the end of the sentence, and found himself surprised that he didn’t even have to fake the tears coming to his eyes. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to wake up one day and barely even recognise your own face in the mirror? I… don’t know who I am anymore.” Great, he’d managed to upset himself for real. He swiped at the moisture on his cheeks, furious with himself. The reality of the situation loomed over him in that moment. He honestly didn’t know who he was. The Joker had stolen everything that made him _him_ in that little shed on that horrific night and he’d then spent two years trying to put himself back together, like a jigsaw puzzle missing half the pieces.

Dick closed his eyes and swallowed it all down, gritting his teeth so hard they hurt. Bruce’s hands were on his shoulders, squeezing gently.

“The computer should be finished with his prints, Detective,” Commissioner Gordon said pointedly, pressing a tissue into Dick’s hands. Dick heard the door squeak and click to announce Bullock’s departure. “I’m sorry about that, Dick. Do you need some water?”

Dick opened his eyes, having finally wrestled his emotions back into their little box. “No, thank you. I’m okay now.” He dabbed at his eyes with the tissue, hoping he hadn’t inked himself in the face.

Bruce was standing over him, his eyes wide with genuine concern. “Are you sure?”

Dick gave him a weak smile, squeezing Bruce’s hand. “I’m sure.” He’d bundled all his feelings into a tight little ball and buried it as deep inside him as he could. They’d burst out later, probably when he was lying awake and alone that night. At least Bruce’s previous insistence on him never being alone meant Wally had been around, which helped keep his darkest thoughts at bay. With Wally returning to school and having to spend more time at home, Dick had to try sleeping alone again.

Bruce and Commissioner Gordon were both still watching Dick worriedly. He was actually grateful when Bullock showed up.

“The fingerprints match,” the detective said, handing the commissioner a printout.

“No surprises there,” Commissioner Gordon replied, giving the sheet a once-over before setting it down on his desk.

“I asked one of the assistants to find all the paperwork,” Bullock continued.

“Thank you, Detective. You can go back to work.” The commissioner waited until the door closed behind Bullock before speaking again. “The legal process is going to be a nightmare. I usually don’t condone throwing money around, but this might be a good time to do it if you want this sorted out before we all die of old age.”

“All going well, Dick will be legally alive by the end of the week,” Bruce said.

Commissioner Gordon chuckled. “The scary part is, Bruce, I believe you.” He glanced at Dick. “Joking aside, Dick’s going to need counselling. I know a few good therapists who might be a good fit.”

“Thank you, but we’ve already found someone,” Bruce said. “She’s worked with Dick before and they get along well.”

“That’s good to hear.” The commissioner got up to accept some papers from a woman at the door, who explained a few details Dick wasn’t particularly interested in. Commissioner Gordon then relayed these to Bruce as they worked through the paperwork. Dick let himself zone out to save himself from getting his senses overloaded like they sometimes did. It didn’t happen as often as it used to, right after he’d just escaped from the Lazarus Pit. Still, it was better for everyone involved if he took some time to numb himself. The last time his senses had been so overstretched that he snapped, he ended up having a very loud panic attack on the bathroom floor of the first apartment he occupied in Gotham. That was months ago. He had sought out better coping methods since then. Music seemed to help if he listened to it through headphones in a darkened room.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump. “Dick? You there?”

“I, uh, yeah.” He tried to calm his racing heart. It was only Bruce. The thought didn’t seem to help, so he settled for trying to ignore the way his heart was trying to punch its way out of his chest. Bruce’s contact, obviously trying to be gentle and calming, had the opposite effect. He really didn’t want to be touched right now.

“Make sure his therapist knows about today,” Commissioner Gordon said, watching Dick worriedly. “You’re going to be all right, son. I’ve seen lots of people go through the same thing and overcome it with time.” Had Dick genuinely been a kidnapping victim, perhaps the commissioner’s words would have brought some comfort. Dick appreciated the effort—it was certainly more than most people had given him over the past two years—but effort wasn’t enough to really help.

“I’ll be okay,” he said quietly. “I… need a minute.” Bruce finally seemed to sense that physical contact wasn’t helping and stepped away. He and the commissioner spoke quietly to each other near the door while Dick gathered his composure.

“We’ll be in touch,” Commissioner Gordon told Bruce when Dick finally felt well enough to stand up. He showed them out the back again. Sitting in the car, Dick felt a lot better, but he still would need some time to himself to decompress.

“What happened in there, Dick?” Bruce asked as he pulled out of the parking spot.

Dick shrugged, not really wanting to get into details. “I was thinking too much about things.” Bruce made an unsatisfied noise in his throat but didn’t press for more information. “I’m fine now, really.” He was momentarily distracted by a very loud car horn somewhere behind them. “Anyway, I was kind of wondering where we’re going from here. I mean, I’m sick of being stuck in the house all the time, for starters.”

“It’s a necessary precaution,” Bruce said.

“A necessary precaution that will become highly impractical the instant word gets out that Richard Grayson is alive and well,” Dick replied, trying and failing to hide the edge of annoyance in his voice. “You can’t just keep me locked up forever, Bruce. People will talk. You made the decision to alert the police, okay? Now you’ve got to deal with the consequences of that decision.”

“I don’t like your tone, Richard.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, I don’t like your attitude.” Dick knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but he’d gone too far to stop now. “I thought you wanted us to be a family again. Start acting like it.”

Bruce growled, his eyes set on the road. “Richard Grayson. I have done more for you than most people would for someone in your position.

“You were the one who put me in that position in the first place!”

Bruce pretended he didn’t hear Dick’s response. “I didn’t have to take you back in. I didn’t have to cover for you.”

“No, but you chose to. And it’s about time you started acting like it!” Dick took in a shaky breath; he was getting too emotional. “You said you weren’t going to lie to me, Bruce. Or was that a lie, too?”

“That’s enough,” Bruce snapped. “This conversation is over.”

Dick bit his tongue, choosing to stare out the side window instead of glaring at Bruce any longer. He was starting to have doubts about sticking this out.

They spent the rest of the ride home in uncomfortable silence. Upon reaching the manor, Bruce left the boy under Alfred’s supervision and disappeared into the Batcave.

“Would there be any point to asking what happened, Master Dick?” Alfred asked.

“No,” Dick muttered. “But, hey, look on the bright side! The police bought my story and I should officially be alive by the end of the week if Bruce knows what he’s doing. Maybe then I can leave the house without him having a conniption.”

“That is certainly good news,” Alfred commented, steering Dick upstairs. “Master Wallace will be glad to hear it. Perhaps so glad that he will stop pestering me for news.”

“Someone say my name?” Wally barrelled out from one of the hallways. “Hey, Dick! How’d it go?”

“It went well.” Dick buried his dark feelings for the time being. “My fingerprints were already on file from the number of times my sorry butt has been kidnapped. Bruce lifted the protection coding on my files so the police could match them to the prints they took from me today.” He waved his inky fingers. “All we need to do now is wait for all the paperwork to go through and I’ll be alive again.”

“Sweet!” Wally pulled Dick into a bone-crushing hug. “We should celebrate. Dad just bought me this new game…” Wally dragged him off, rambling about its features while Dick’s mind wandered back to his conversation with Bruce. He’d been stupid to think things could possibly go back to normal. There was no way Bruce would ever trust him again after all the things he had done. What the hell was he _doing_ here? Everything would have been so much easier if Wally hadn’t convinced him to—

“Dude.” Wally’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“Wha—what?” They were in his room, but Dick couldn’t remember the journey there.

“You okay? You totally just spaced out on me.”

“I’m fine.” Dick shrugged off the hand on his shoulder. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

“Sharing is caring.”

“I’ll remember that next time I catch a cold.”

Wally snorted. “I haven’t gotten a cold since I got my powers, Dickie. Good luck with that.” He pulled a slim case out of yellow backpack on the floor; he had probably come straight from school. “So, you game? Ready to get your ass kicked?”

“You are so on.” Dick swiped the case from the speedster’s hand, loading it into the console while Wally turned on the TV. While the game was loading, Dick skim-read the information on the case to make up for zoning out earlier. It was a typical first-person shooter. He could play those things in his sleep.

Wally threw him a controller. “I should warn you: I’ve been practicing.”

“I should warn _you_ it won’t make any difference.” Dick parked himself on the floor, Wally sliding down beside him. Dick got his ass handed to him in the first game—he was a bit rusty—but found his rhythm in the second. Wally’s shouts of triumph quickly turned to moans of anguish. After his fifth consecutive loss, he threw down the controller.

“This is so not fair!”

“What can I say?” Dick blew on one of his controller handles like a smoking gun. “Natural talent. Care for another rematch?”

“Hell, no. We are not about to start playing ‘how many unique and stupid ways can Wally West die’ again.”

“Did you bring any cooperative games, then?”

“Portal 2’s got a multiplayer campaign.” Wally was already up and rummaging through his bag. “Please tell me I—score!”

He wasn’t so cheerful later when Dick kept finding ways to make him die.

“You’re impossible!” he shouted after his orange robot was crushed for the fifth time. “What’s up with you, dude? I don’t remember you being such a prick in co-op before. Well, except for that time I told Zatanna it was your birthday without your permission. But I haven’t done anything to make you mad lately, have I?”

“No. Sorry.” Dick shut off the game. “Guess I’m just not in a cooperative mood.”

“I can see that,” Wally grumbled, not that he was actually angry. “Come on, tell me what’s up? You and Bruce have another fight?”

Dick sighed. “Yeah. It’s kind of my fault. Again.”

“It takes two to tango, Dick. What was it about this time?”

“I mentioned I was getting sick of being stuck in the house,” Dick started slowly before quickly picking up steam. “He said it was a necessary precaution. I got snippy, he got angry. Said he had done more for me than most people would for someone in my position. I, uh, kind of blamed him for putting me in that position in the first place. Got the silent treatment all the way back home.”

“Ouch. You two don’t pull any punches, do you?”

“Well, he _did_ teach me how to punch.” Dick flicked through the channels on the TV, inwardly decrying the quality of afternoon television. “It’s just… ugh. I can’t stay in here forever. I’ll go crazy. Well, crazi _er_. Not to mention people will talk if I’m never seen outside the house. It’s such an impractical and poorly-planned decision on Bruce’s part, especially when I was under the impression he wanted to _help_ me. At least, that’s what I thought since he brought Dinah in to sort out my head. I just can’t get a read on him right now and it’s really starting to get to me.”

Wally squeezed his shoulder. “I take it the ride to and from the police station didn’t help the cabin fever?”

“Not one bit. I didn’t even get the ice cream I was promised.”

Wally gasped dramatically. “What? No! That is cruelty!” He gathered Dick in his arms and started to rock him, ignoring the former Boy Wonder’s squirming. “You poor, poor thing. You’ve been through a _dreadful_ experience!”

“Get off me!”

“How could anyone be so heartless to deny you?”

“Wally, I will hurt you.”

“Who could deny such a sweet, gentle—oof!” Dick had punched him in the gut to get away. “It’s okay, I forgive you. You’ve just lived through a traumatic experience.”

“Grab me like that again and I’ll give you a traumatic experience,” Dick growled, though he wasn’t being entirely serious at this point.

“Nah, I’ve got a better idea,” Wally said brightly. “We should go camping!”

“What part of ‘I’m not allowed to leave the manor’ did you not understand? Besides, you hate camping.”

“We don’t have to leave the grounds,” Wally said quickly. “You guys have acres of land. There’s bound to be room for a tent somewhere.”

“Fine. Whatever. But you have to ask Alfred so he’ll kill you instead of me for suggesting we drive holes into his immaculate lawn.”

“I’ll take one for the team,” Wally promised, bouncing out of the room.

And that was how Dick ended up pitching a tent in his own backyard with the dubious assistance of a hyperactive speedster who was more excited about the idea of lighting a fire than actually helping set up the tent.


	17. Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick and Wally finally acknowledge their feelings for each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That summary is disgustingly inadequate, but it gets the main point across. Anybody reading this fic for the shipping should be satisfied with this chapter. Hopefully. This is another chapter I'm a little worried isn't up to the standard set by its predecessors.
> 
> Actually, scratch that. I'm not even going apologise for this thing. It's overwrought and angsty and sappy and maybe a tiny bit lame but it's been in my head for so long that I'm just glad it's finally being released into the world.
> 
> 26/2/2015: Edited a bit of dialogue that was bothering me.

“I still can’t believe Alfred and Bruce actually agreed to this,” Dick said, stabbing a stick into a row of marshmallows and holding it over the campfire. He watched Wally’s eyes glimmer in the firelight, the rest of his face a shadow framed by the dying sunlight behind him. A radio played softly in the background; Wally had brought it along and set it to a station playing sappy love song dedications. Dick teased him for it, but neither of them changed the station.

“What can I say?” Wally bit the end off his sausage. “It’s my natural charm.”

“You’re so full of yourself,” Dick said fondly. One of his marshmallows caught on fire.

“You love it,” Wally said through a mouthful of sausage as he watched Dick frantically blow it out. “Yeah, sorry about your marshmallow. I breathed on it.”

Dick snorted, pulling the marshmallow off the stick with his teeth. “I swear you don’t even make sense half the time.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Wally squeezed about ten marshmallows onto the one stick. “But I make you laugh, don’t I?”

“Laughter is a way of coping with things that don’t make sense and would otherwise make our brains overload from trying to understand things that can’t be understood,” Dick said rapidly. “It’s an evolutionary construct designed to stop us from collectively walking off a cliff.”

“Calm down, depresso Darwin. Go to your happy place.”

Dick laughed. “Depresso Darwin?”

“What else was I going to say? You backed me into a corner!” He looked so scandalised that it only made Dick laugh harder. “Stop laughing at me!”

“Oh, have another marshmallow.” Dick threw his stick over the fire. Wally caught it and ate the last two marshmallows left, his faux irritation immediately forgotten.

He tossed the stick back. “Okay, I forgive you.”

“Why do I get the feeling you only like me because I give you candy?”

“That’s not true!” Wally burst out. “You feed me pizza, too.”

“Thanks, Wall. I feel so loved right now.”

“Hey, they say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“You’re not a man, Wally.”

“I will be in November! Just you wait.”

Dick cackled. “You make it sound like you’ll wake up on November the eleventh built like Superman and hairier than a grizzly.”

“Who’s to say I won’t?” Wally challenged. “I’ll prove you wrong, Grayson.”

“Sure thing, Kid Virility.”

“Did you just call me Kid Virginity?!”

That was more than Dick could take. He fell facefirst onto the grass, positively howling. Wally threw his packet of marshmallows at him.

“Now listen here, you little shit!” But he was laughing too. “I’ll have you know I touched a boob once!”

“Once.” Dick was too far gone to form complete sentences by this point. “Once!”

“Okay, Boy Ladykiller, you do better!” Wally’s challenge was ignored because Dick was still flailing on the ground. “THIS ISN’T FUNNY!”

“Can’t. Breathe.” Tears were streaming down Dick’s face.

“He’s lost it,” Wally said to no one in particular. “He’s finally snapped.”

Dick took a huge gulp of air and finally found where he’d left his composure. He rolled over onto his back, panting and giggling every few seconds. “I am so sorry,” he said when he’d gotten himself back under control. Wally was still watching him incredulously.

“You’re a complete basketcase, Dick,” he said, echoing Dick’s fond tone from earlier in the night.

“Was there ever any doubt?”

Wally snorted. “You adorable little shit.”

“It’s a gift,” Dick replied lazily, stretching out like a kitten. His shoulders ached a little from training on the rings for the first time in forever. He’d missed it. Giving gravity the finger without another care in the world had become alien to him. It had been too long.

Wally fiddled with the radio, turning up the volume. “M’gann got me hooked on this radio show a couple years back,” he said out of the blue. His voice was quiet, almost… wistful. “Shortly after you died, actually. I guess she thought it might cheer us all up. Artemis and Conner hated it. Kaldur and Raquel were kind of indifferent to it. Zatanna and I couldn’t stop listening.” He chuckled softly. “It’s kind of funny, really. That should’ve been my first clue.”

Dick sat up, watching Wally’s face best he could in the flickering light of the campfire. “You’ve lost me.”

“It…” Wally hesitated. “Don’t worry about it, dude. I don’t want to dump this on you before you’re ready for it.”

Dick narrowed his eyes. “Now you’ve really lost me.”

Wally set the radio aside, visibly forcing a smile. “I’ll tell you later. Want some more marshmallows?”

“Did you just try to distract me with food?”

“…Maybe.” Wally crawled around the fire and plopped himself next to Dick. “Did it work?”

Dick snatched the bag of marshmallows off him. “Just this once, KF. Don’t start thinking I’m always this easy to buy off.” He roasted another stick of marshmallows while Wally tended to the fire. It was comfortable out here, despite the chilly edge in the air. Wally had always been good at putting him at ease, more so than Bruce or even Alfred these days. It was nice having somebody in his corner, somebody who went out of his way to just _be there_. Hell, Wally had even convinced Dick to start teaching him Romani a few years back. Bruce and Alfred had also learned a bit, but in their case it had been more of a necessity so they could handle Dick when he was nine and still a bit shaky on his English. It had never been necessary for Wally, but he had wanted to learn anyway. Dick had never been able to articulate how much that meant to him.

The two boys shared the marshmallows Dick had roasted and a blanket Alfred had given them in addition to the two sleeping bags already set up inside the tent. The temperature ceased to be an issue, and Dick found himself relaxing with his head on Wally’s shoulder. He could have dozed off right there, content with using Wally as a pillow.

“I haven’t seen you this calm in, like, forever,” Wally said, taking a break from doing whatever he was doing with his phone. Dick couldn’t see his face from his position, but he could hear the smile in his friend’s voice. He closed his eyes as Wally put an arm around him.

“I feel safe with you,” he admitted, letting Wally rest his chin on top of his head. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been so close to someone physically and felt so comfortable.

“That means a lot coming from you,” Wally said quietly. “You know, after what you’ve been through.” His voice had dropped an octave and his breath ruffled Dick’s hair. Wally smelled nice, a lingering scent of aftershave, slightly sweet but not overpowering. All this was almost enough to make him forget.

Almost.

Dick turned his face into Wally’s shoulder, which was softened by the hoodie he was wearing. “Can I ask you something, Wally?”

“Sure.” It must have taken a lot of restraint not to remark that Dick just did. “What is it?”

“Let’s say, hypothetically, that I wanted to return to the hero gig and the team,” Dick said. “How would you… feel about that?”

“I’d be happy,” Wally replied after a moment of consideration, “but worried, too. I mean, I’m not doubting your skills. They’re sharp as ever. I just… wonder if you could handle it with all the guilt you’re carrying. You don’t even feel at home in your own home right now.”

“Did you just almost quote Beyoncé?”

“Shush, you.” Wally shoved a marshmallow in Dick’s mouth. “I just think you might want to get a handle on being Dick Grayson before trying to juggle a new hero identity.”

“You’ve got a point, I guess. It’s a dumb idea anyway.”

“Hey, that’s not what I said.” Wally pulled back, holding onto Dick’s shoulders while he stared him in the eye. “I think it’d be great having you back on the team, just not before you’re ready. You’ve been through hell, Dick, and it shows. I spend half my time worrying about you. It’s not your fault, so don’t even think about blaming yourself, but still.” He shrugged. “You need to get better before you start complicating things.”

“You make it sound like I’ve come down with the flu, rather than a case of homicidal rage.”

“Look, I’m not excusing what you’ve done, okay?" Wally said quickly. "I’d never do that. What I’m trying to say is you need to be… kind to yourself, I guess.” Wally took in a loud breath and scrambled for the radio. “No talking for a sec. I want you to hear something.” He turned up the radio and carried it back to Dick, burrowing under the blanket with him again.

“I’ve just received a text from Wally West in Gotham City,” the radio DJ said, his deep, smooth voice almost turning Wally’s name into a song.

“So that’s what you were—” Dick made a face at Wally, who had shushed him.

“His best friend is going through a rough patch and needs to be reminded it’s not his fault.” Dick guessed he was paraphrasing the text message. Knowing Wally, there had probably been a few _dude_ s involved. “He also has some important news to tell him and would like me to play Hero by Enrique Iglesias. Must be one special friend, huh? Here you go, Wally. Good luck.” The guitar started and Dick tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowed.

“Enrique? Seriously, dude?” He was still frowning at Wally, who had scrambled to his feet.

“Just bear with me.” Wally held out his hand. “May I have this dance?”

“Sure, I—I guess.” Dick took Wally’s hand and let himself be pulled to his feet. Wally held onto his hand and put the other around his waist. Rolling his eyes, Dick put his free hand on Wally’s shoulder. It wasn’t much of a dance, mostly just swaying from side to side.

“You really are being too hard on yourself, Dick,” Wally said gently, his lips quirked with a ghost of a smile.

“Or maybe you’re just not hard enough on me,” Dick replied. “I’ve crunched the numbers, Wally. Assuming there were, on average, between twenty and thirty people inside the criminal hideouts I bombed, plus the people I killed personally, I managed to kill over two hundred people over the space of about a month.” He smiled grimly at Wally’s sharp intake of breath. “If my estimates are less conservative, the number could hit three hundred. That’s a lot of dead bodies, Wally. A lot of loved ones left behind. I am responsible for that.” It was a painful admission, but he had to be honest with himself… and with Wally.

Wally’s grip tightened around his waist. “Dick, I—”

“I’m a _monster_ , Wally,” Dick spat. Wally let go of his hand to run his thumb along Dick’s cheek. It was only then that he realised he was crying.

“No,” Wally whispered, brushing Dick’s cheeks dry. “You’re really not.”

“And how the hell do you know that?” Dick snapped, trying to pull away. Wally cradled Dick’s head in both hands and he stopped moving immediately, feeling oddly disarmed.

“Because I love you,” Wally said, so quietly that his words were almost drowned out by Enrique’s voice. Dick grabbed the speedster by the wrists, backing away.

“What?”

Wally’s eyes went wide and he started backpedalling, fast. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way I just thought I should tell you so you know where we stand becauseIdon’twanttolieaboutthisanymoreIjust—”

“Wally,” Dick said sharply, his heart pounding in his throat. He was completely off-balance and his head was a mess—everything was a mess, except for one thing: the one thing he needed right now. “Please. I… need to hear it again.”

Wally stood there with his mouth half-open, nothing but the softest part of the song floating between them. “I… I love you, Dick. I’ve—” He didn’t get the rest out, for Dick had thrown himself at him, his heart swelling with the music, and pressed their lips together, his fingers tangled in Wally’s sweater as he pulled the speedster as close as physically possible.

Wally grabbed Dick by the waist as both boys relaxed into the kiss and Dick loosened his grip to instead rest his hands flat against Wally’s chest. The taste of salt hit both boys’ tongues; Dick had started crying again, god damn it. Wally made a concerned noise in the back of his throat and his hands rose to his cheeks to catch the tears. Dick squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could and pushed forward. Wally tripped and the pair ended up on the ground, Wally breaking Dick’s fall.

“Fuck. Shit. Sorry. Sorry.”

Wally smiled. “It’s okay. At least the shock stopped your crying.”

Mortified, Dick buried his face in Wally’s sweater. The song was over. “I can’t believe you just gave me a love song dedication.”

“Hey, I can be romantic when I want to be.” Wally pulled Dick’s body closer by the waist. “I... just wish I’d figured out how I felt sooner, before it was too late. Well, obviously it turned out not to be, but I thought it was at the time, you know?”

Dick lifted his head, drying his face with his sleeve. “Yeah, I get what you mean.”

“The most embarrassing part is I wasn’t even the one who figured it out, really.”

“Okay, now I _don’t_ get what you mean.”

Wally rolled Dick off him and crawled to grab the blanket. He and Dick huddled together back in front of the fire. Wally stole another kiss before he responded to Dick’s question.

“Artemis noticed first,” he said quietly. “It was about a month—maybe two—after you… you know. I wasn’t doing well. Arty put two-and-two together and confronted me about it, said she wasn’t going to play second fiddle to a ghost, even if she felt bad for me. That’s when we broke up.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, dude. Don’t even try it.” Wally guided Dick’s head back to his shoulder, putting his arm around Dick’s waist this time. Dick reached out and grabbed the speedster’s other hand. “I’m guessing from the way you jumped me that you… feel the same way?”

Dick nodded. “You’ve been on my mind almost constantly these last couple months. You’re as annoying in my head as you are in real life.” He snuggled closer, letting out a sigh that he’d deny later. “I don’t know if anyone else could have convinced me to come back here, Wally. But—I don’t think I’m ready to say _it_ yet.”

“It’s okay,” Wally replied. “I made it through those two years. I can stand to wait a little longer.” He gave Dick’s hand a quick squeeze. “Whenever you’re ready is fine with me, babe.” The nickname warmed the pit of Dick’s stomach and he squirmed from the feeling. It wasn’t altogether unpleasant. Maybe he’d get used to it in time. He wanted to test that, which pushed him into speaking.

“So, what does this make us?”

“Whatever you want, babe.” There was the nickname again, and the warm, squirmy feeling. Dick found that he liked it. “If you want to make this official, I’m happy with that.”

“Well, that’s good, because I do.” Dick planted a kiss on the corner of Wally’s jaw, which made Wally let out a low hum and respond by kissing the tip of Dick’s nose.

“So… boyfriends?”

Dick grinned. “Boyfriends.”

The boys put out the fire and retired to their tent soon afterwards, kicking off their shoes and slipping into their sleeping bags. Wally was out like a light—there were some things that never changed—while Dick lay awake for a while before slipping into a fitful sleep.

He woke a short while later, shaking and screaming with the Joker’s laugh bouncing around inside his head. He curled into a ball, tearing at the inside of his sleeping bag and biting down hard on his pillow.

“Dick?” Wally said sleepily. “You okay, dude?” He put a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “No, you’re not okay.” He lifted Dick’s hands from the sleeping bag they were tearing up and smoothed out his fingers, interlacing them with his. “Shh, babe. I’m here. You’re safe. He’s not going to hurt you here.”

“Wally…” Dick squeezed the other boy’s hands. Hard. He slowly uncoiled himself, crawling out of the sleeping bag and into Wally’s arms. Wally grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around them like a cocoon, where he continued to hold Dick and whisper in his ear until the boy stopped shaking.

“I’ll keep you safe,” Wally whispered as Dick closed his eyes. “No one will ever hurt you again.”


	18. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After he and Wally reaffirm their feelings, Dick and Bruce talk things out. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story arc that follows this chapter is giving me some trouble so I'm not sure when the next update will be. I'm going to finish drafting and then take a look at what I've got before I make a decision to scrap and rewrite or keep it.

Dick woke the next morning to the sensation of fingers running through his hair. He let out a long breath, leaving his face buried in Wally’s chest, and let him continue for a while. Truth be told, he didn’t want to get up and leave the little haven they had created together last night. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept so well, even if he factored in the nightmare.

“Morning, babe,” Wally said, his voice still croaky from sleep. Dick made some sort of grunting noise in response, at which Wally laughed. “Don’t want to get up yet? That’s cool. Me neither.” An arm tightened around Dick’s middle. “How are you feeling, gorgeous?”

That lovely, squirmy feeling made a reappearance, making Dick smile. “Happy,” he responded through the haze of drowsiness.

“I’m glad.”

Dick ran his hand along one of Wally’s arms; the speedster had abandoned his hoodie before going to bed last night, leaving him in a t-shirt. Dick didn’t mind. Not at all. He was perfectly happy exploring all the wiry, toned muscles that came from regular training and fighting. Dick let himself get lost in the repetitive motion, the feel of Wally’s skin under his fingers.

“That feels nice,” Wally said after a while, his hand still tangled in Dick’s hair. “Thank God it’s Saturday, huh?”

Dick hummed in response, closing his eyes again. He just wanted to lie here forever. Wally was a surprisingly comfortable pillow. They would have to do this again sometime, maybe when Dick wasn’t so damn weepy. He felt a lot better now and about as far from crying as possible, but last night stuck in the back of his mind, both wonderful and awful. As Wally kissed his temples, forehead, nose, lips, he ultimately decided the good outweighed the bad.

Eventually, though, Wally’s stomach growled. “Oh, hell.”

Dick chuckled, lifting his head to meet Wally’s eyes. “I guess we better get up before you waste away.”

Wally gave a tight smile; he didn’t want the moment to end any more than Dick did. “Yeah, I guess. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Dick leaned down and planted a quick kiss on Wally’s lips, inwardly reeling at just how _natural_ it felt. “Come on, Kid Stomach, let’s get you something to eat.”

Wally’s speed made packing up a breeze, although he did manage to get himself tangled in the tent somehow. Dick spent a full minute laughing at him before calming down enough to help. After that, Dick took charge of packing up the tent. He had just finished putting it back in its bag, when he called Wally over.

Wally sat on the grass next to him. “What’s up?”

“Can we keep this quiet for now?” Dick asked. “I’m not ready to tell anyone yet.”

“Sure,” Wally said immediately. “There’s no way I’m gonna be ready to tell my parents for a long time, either. Hell, I’m pretty sure my dad’s a homophobe, so maybe never.” Dick silently took his hand. They sat together on the grass for a while until Dick’s phone buzzed in his pocket with a text from Alfred telling them breakfast was ready.

* * *

 

Breakfast wasn’t quite as uncomfortable an affair as it had been when Dick first returned to the manor. For starters, Jason now talked to him on occasion. Bruce didn’t often show up, but this was normal. Besides, it was probably easier that way. With Wally at the table, it was hard for awkwardness to rear its ugly head in any case.

“Pass the bacon,” Jason said to Dick. Alfred sniffed disapprovingly and Jason rolled his eyes. “ _Please_.” Dick passed the plate, trying not to smile and failing terribly. “Thank you,” Jason muttered.

“You’re welcome,” Dick said brightly. It would take something major to ruin his mood today. Wally’s knee bumped into his under the table, shooting his mood even higher. “How was school yesterday?” he asked Jason. He hadn’t had the chance to ask earlier.

“Fine.” Jason set the plate of bacon back on the table. “I passed my History test.”

“That’s good.” This rather stilted, overly polite exchange was typical of their interactions. Maybe with time it would improve, but Dick was happy enough that Jason was willing to talk to him at all. It was more than he deserved, really.

“Yeah, well, got more tests on Monday.” Jason shoved some bacon into his mouth with more violence than Dick had ever seen someone eat before. The kid was angry about something, which wasn’t unusual.

“What for?”

“English and Math.” Jason rested his chin in his hand, glaring at his plate. “My Math teacher’s got it out for me, I swear. He’ll fail me no matter what I do.”

“I could give you a hand if you like,” Dick offered, mostly to be polite. He doubted Jason would actually take him up on it.

“Didn’t you skip middle school?”

“I was homeschooled by Bruce and Alfred _until_ middle school, actually,” Dick replied.

“Whatever.”

“Just throw me your textbook and I’ll work it out.” Dick shoved his eggs and bacon together on his fork. “Unless you’d rather ask Bruce…”

“I have before.”

Dick shrugged it off. “If you’d rather do that, fine. Just thought I’d offer, since I was a champion mathlete and all that when I was your age.”

Wally elbowed him. “Showoff.”

“Well, I did grow up in show business,” Dick replied off-handedly, pouring himself some juice. “It’s in my blood.” He started singing under his breath. “There’s no business like show business…”

“It’s too early in the morning for this,” Jason groaned before shovelling more food into his mouth. He left shortly thereafter, leaving Dick and Wally by themselves in the dining room while Alfred cleaned the kitchen. Dick kept eating, until he noticed the sounds of the knife and fork working next to him had ceased. He looked up to find Wally watching him with a strange look on his face.

“What’s up with you?” he asked.

Wally laughed uncomfortably. “Uh, nothing. Just thinking.” He reached up and caught a few strands of Dick’s hair between his fingers. “About last night. Just wanted to make sure you were still, you know, on board.”

“What, was this morning in the tent not obvious enough for you?” Dick asked playfully, slipping his hand into Wally’s. “I haven’t changed my mind. Have you?”

“Hell, no! If my feelings didn’t go away when you were dead to me for two years, they’re not gonna change overnight.” His words made Dick lean forward and kiss him. Wally tasted like coffee and orange juice. They heard Alfred’s approach and quickly broke apart.

“Is everything to your liking, sirs?”

“Of course, Alfred,” Dick said warmly. “When is it not?”

Alfred smiled at his response. “I am glad to hear it.” Sometimes Alfred made Dick feel like he had never left, like the last two years of his life had never happened. He certainly felt a lot more at ease around Alfred than he did around Bruce or Jason at the moment.

After breakfast, the boys lounged in one of the sitting rooms. Wally was typing out an assignment on his laptop, scowling at the screen and muttering under his breath. Dick was flicking through a math textbook Alfred had picked up for him recently. It was Junior level, so technically a couple months ahead of where Dick was supposed to be, but he was breezing through it. Nobody had really discussed how to handle Dick’s education now. He’d probably have to take a few tests for Gotham Academy to gauge his level. That wouldn’t be hard. Choosing to keep up his education in his own time had paid off.

“I hate essays,” Wally complained, backspacing furiously. “Why can’t it be June already?”

Dick patted him on the shoulder with his sock-covered foot. “There, there. Just a few weeks to go.”

“Says the guy who isn’t even _in_ school.”

“You do realise I’m reading a math textbook for fun right now, don’t you?”

Wally made a disgusted face. “You’ve got problems, dude. Serious problems.”

“Be quiet and write your essay,” Dick said mildly, turning the page. Wally went back to typing, hitting the keys with more force than necessary.

“Master Richard?” Alfred called from the doorway. Wally jumped, nearly dropping his laptop.

“Is everybody in this house a ninja?” he exclaimed. Dick ignored him.

“Yes, Alfred?”

“Master Bruce would like to see you in his office.” Alfred withdrew from the door without another word. Dick set his book on the coffee table, delaying the moment when he’d have to get up. Wally grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Don’t worry, babe,” he said. “You haven’t done anything wrong… this time. It’s not like he’s going to chew you out again.”

“You suck at this whole comforting thing, you know.” Dick gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before finally gathering the nerve to get up. “I’ll see you later, if I survive.”

“Pfft. Drama queen.”

Dick left Wally with his essay, making the trek to Bruce’s office alone, where he found Bruce staring out the window with his back to the door. He didn’t fool himself into thinking his entrance had gone unnoticed, though. Nothing escaped Bruce’s notice. Well, not usually. Dick was still amazed he hadn’t checked out the footage from their confrontation at the train station before Dick had prompted him to do so.

“I’m here,” he said anyway.

“Close the door.”

Dick did so reluctantly, his anxiety skyrocketing. “So, uh, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“Please sit down, Dick.” Bruce finally turned around once Dick had seated himself on the edge of a chair in front of the desk. His face was unreadable, but at least he didn’t look angry. Hell, he even sat down himself. Bruce tended to prefer standing when he was about to be an asshole.

“So,” Dick prompted when it became clear Bruce wasn’t about to start speaking, “are you going to say something or are we just going to sit here for a while?”

Bruce looked slightly uncomfortable. “I… wanted to apologise for yesterday. You weren’t in a good state of mind and I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. You made a good point. I can’t keep treating you like a prisoner here after I chose to bring you back into the fold.”

“I guess I should apologise for snapping at you,” Dick said quietly. It was always strange hearing Bruce apologise, and immensely awkward for both parties. The real Bruce Wayne, not the façade he wore in front of the public, wasn’t very good at this whole interpersonal relationship thing.

“It’s all right. I have been rather… obtuse of late.” Bruce even cracked a smile, albeit a small one. “Alfred brought me to my senses.”

“He does that a lot.”

“That was cheeky, Dick.”

“I’ll never grow out of it.”

Bruce let out a soft chuckle in response. “I’ve been thinking about what to do about this situation. Perhaps it would be prudent for you to stay in the manor until the paperwork goes through, then we can improvise from there.”

“What are we going to do about school?”

“I’ll get in touch with Gotham Academy once you’re legally alive,” Bruce replied. “See if we can’t arrange some kind of aptitude test so you end up in the right grade. There’s not long until the end of the semester, so it might not be worth enrolling you again until the new academic year starts after summer break.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Dick didn’t bother mentioning that a test would be nothing more than a formality. There was a line between confidence and arrogance, the latter of which had probably been a significant contributing factor in him getting himself killed. Actually, there was no “probably” about it. If he hadn’t been stupid enough to engage the Joker alone…

“Dick?”

He snapped back to reality. “Mm, what?”

Bruce looked slightly irritated but didn’t make a comment about Dick’s distraction. “As I was saying, I appreciate the effort you’re making to get along with Jason. I know it must be difficult for both of you, given the… circumstances. Jason can be a little hard to live with sometimes and, well…”

“I nearly blew him up, injured him at the train station and later trapped him in a shipping container for several hours,” Dick finished for him. “Honestly, I expected you to keep him out of it after he nearly got crisped.”

“I figured as much. You did seem surprised to see him there when you paid us a visit.”

The conversation was really starting to move into uncomfortable territory. Dick shifted awkwardly in his seat. “Yeah, well, I expected you to keep him on a tighter leash after what happened to me.”

“I… Dick…”

Dick waved off the rest of Bruce’s sentence. “Don’t worry about it. Jason turned out to be more competent than I expected given that he’d only been Robin for a year, but you might want to work on his fall management. Looked like he really did his knee at the train station. If it helps, I didn’t actually expect him to keep up with us so I hadn’t factored in his involvement.” He leaned back in his seat, frowning. “God, it already feels like I was a completely different person and it wasn’t even that long ago. Not sure if that’s a good or bad thing…”

“Maybe the distance will help you adjust,” Bruce offered.

“Or allow me to forget what happens when I go off the fucking deep end.” Dick’s fingernails were digging into his forearm, the biting sensation keeping him steeped in the present. “We never think about how dangerous we are, how easy it would be to just… _destroy_ … if we ever decided we were finished with this whole ‘being a hero’ thing. I know you made contingencies for all the Leaguers if they ever went rogue, but did you ever think about doing the same for me?”

“No,” Bruce answered honestly. “I never thought it would be necessary. At least, not when you were still a child.”

“I guess that explains why it took you so damn long to figure out it was me under the helmet,” Dick muttered. He wasn’t sure if Bruce’s admission made him feel better or worse. Bruce had had faith in him, sure, but at the same time Dick had managed to shatter it completely. Okay, worse. Definitely worse.

Bruce’s voice broke Dick out of his wallowing. “Would you ever consider returning to, in your words, the ‘being a hero’ thing?”

“I’ve thought about it. I just don’t know if I’m cut out for it anymore.” Or if he was even worthy. What the hell kind of hero murdered people and spread fear and terror throughout their home city? He had deluded himself into thinking that, somehow, he would be a better Batman than the real Batman ever was. But Batman had the respect of the public. The Red Hood was a criminal alias from the beginning, and Dick had been so focused on screwing with Black Mask’s people to further his personal revenge mission that he hadn’t even spared a thought for how the public might view him, Gotham’s new crime lord. Bruce had been right on that count, and it got harder for Dick to justify with each passing day. All his talk of ‘controlling’ crime. He’d believed it at the time, but was the bodycount and the perpetuation of the drug trade worth it?

“Maybe we should talk about this another time,” Bruce said, noticing Dick’s distraction. “Your mind is clearly elsewhere today. Just like yesterday, for that matter.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Dick got up to leave.

“Just one more thing before you go, Dick.” Bruce was also on his feet, leaning across the desk far enough that he had to support himself on his arms. “Wally’s being here, is it helping you?”

Dick nodded. “It might be the only thing that is, Bruce.” Not feeling like elaborating further, Dick left the office without another word.


	19. You're Not Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm a cruel author, Dick's nice day after acing Gotham Academy's placement test is ruined by bad news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there's a mention of self harm at the beginning of the third scene.

Bruce’s ‘donations’ pushed the legal process along and, true to his word, Dick was officially a living person by the same time next week as when he had made that promise. Bruce called up the school soon afterwards to arrange a placement test. He insisted on driving Dick there on the day.

“You’re being particularly parental today,” Dick commented as Bruce pulled into the carpark near Gotham Academy. “It wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with Jason failing his math quiz the other day, would it? Or him nearly getting stabbed by the Penguin’s umbrella on the weekend? He still insists that one’s your fault, by the way.”

“This has nothing to do with Jason,” Bruce insisted as he finished parking and turned off the car. “This test is very important, Dick. You need to do the best you can.”

“You’re more nervous about it than I am,” Dick replied, patting Bruce on the shoulder. “Relax. I’ll do fine. I didn’t just completely blow off my education these last two years. I even read the novels I would have been assigned if I’d still been in school.” His phone vibrated in his pocket with a message from Wally. Dick grinned, sent off a smartass reply to the ‘good luck’ text and got out of the car. “Honestly, Bruce. You’re worrying over nothing.”

In all honesty, Dick was more nervous about stepping foot onto school grounds again than he was about the test. Class was currently in session, so the number of people who’d be out in the halls was minimal, but still. Being so close to so many people he couldn’t see made him… jittery. Not to mention the media was still freaking out over his reappearance. Dick took a deep breath. He’d be fine once he was in the vice principal’s office, where he’d be taking the test.

Bruce escorted him to the office, passing him over to the vice principal before taking his leave at last, wishing Dick good luck. The vice principal set Dick up on a folding desk in the corner, ran him through the rules of exam conditions and went back to her work while Dick got started. He had been right not to worry about it, not even needing the full two hours to complete it.

The Vice Principal looked up from her papers. “Oh, you’re finished already?”

“I’m a quick study,” Dick replied. The vice principal collected his paper.

“Well, in that case, would you like to call Mr Wayne to pick you up early?” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

“Oh, um, yeah. Thanks.” Dick gave Bruce a call.

“So, how was the test?” Bruce asked once he and Dick were back in the car.

“Easy,” Dick replied. “Hey, is that a milkshake?”

Bruce passed the tall paper cup to him. “To make up for not getting your ice cream the other day.”

“Thanks. You didn’t have to.” Dick slurped through the straw, making Bruce purse his lips much like Alfred. Strawberry flavour. Nice. He set the milkshake aside. “So, I was thinking.”

“That sounds dangerous.” Bruce pulled into traffic behind a courier van.

Dick ignored him. “I was thinking I should pay a visit to Uncle Rick. I mean, I haven’t seen him in over two years and he did think I was dead. And, you know, he’s the only blood relative I’ve got left and all…”

Bruce cleared his throat awkwardly. “That… might be a problem, Dick.”

“What?” Dick narrowed his eyes at the man beside him. “Why?”

They stopped at a traffic light and Bruce turned to look at his ward. “Dick… he’s dead.”

“WHAT?!” Blood pounded in Dick’s ears until they burned along with his face. No. He couldn’t have lost Uncle Rick, too.

“It happened in early January.” Bruce kept his eyes trained on the road as the light turned green. “He didn’t suffer.” As if that was any comfort.

It didn’t help. “Oh, my God. Fuck.” Dick lurched forward until the seatbelt cut into his shoulder, his hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair. “FUCK!”

“I… hadn’t planned to tell you like this.” One of Bruce’s hands gripped Dick’s shoulder while the other remained firmly on the wheel. “I’d hoped to tell you at a more appropriate time. I’m sorry.”

“How the hell would that have helped?” Dick said roughly, lifting Bruce’s hand off him. “I… shit… I thought he was getting better.”

“You hacked his file? What am I saying? Of course you did.”

“It said he was regaining feeling in his left shoulder,” Dick murmured. “He shouldn’t have… ARGH!” He smacked his palms against the glovebox, leaving him there as he braced his arms against it, head bowed under the weight of the news. His insides were quivering, vibrating, almost. His chest felt ready to cave in. “This isn’t _fair_.”

“I know, Dick. I know.” Bruce’s voice sounded distant, like Dick was underwater. It sure felt like he was drowning. For the second time since Dick’s return, the remainder of their journey home was deathly silent.

Upon reaching the manor, Dick headed straight for his room but not before he heard Bruce say, “Keep an eye on him, Alfred. I promised Jason I’d take him to the science museum for his assignment, but I don’t want to leave Dick alone right now.”

“You told him, sir? Now?”

“He asked to see him, Alfred. I couldn’t lie to him.”

Dick finally walked far enough that the conversation no longer reached him. He felt like throwing up. He’d let his uncle die thinking he was alone. And now, he thought as he collapsed on his bed, he, Dick Grayson, really was. He remained sitting on the edge of the bed, letting the horror wash over him for God knows how long before there was a knock on the door.

“Master Dick?” Alfred entered with a tea tray that looked depressingly empty with a single cup and saucer on it. He set it on Dick’s bedside table. “Chamomile, sir.” Alfred’s go-to brew for bereavement.

“Thanks, Alfred,” Dick said tiredly.

“Is there anything you need, sir?”

Dick shook his head. “I’d just like to be alone for a while.”

“Very well, sir. Do not hesitate to call if you need me.” Alfred bowed himself out, closing the door behind him. Dick barely had a minute to himself before his phone buzzed with a message from Wally:

_r u done yet?_

Dick hesitated for a moment, his finger hovering over the dial button, before he decided to call. Wally picked up on the first ring.

“Hey, Boy Genius? How’d it go?”

“Fine. Easy. Finished early.” Dick couldn’t work up the energy for a more eloquent response.

“That’s great! So why do you sound like somebody died?”

“Because somebody did.” He couldn’t help the bite in his voice, but thankfully Wally paid it no mind.

“Shit. Who? You okay? Are you at home? I can be there in less than five minutes if you need me.”

“I’m at home,” Dick said quietly. “Just found out about my uncle. Can you… can you come over?” He felt a sick feeling in his stomach, selfish for asking after how much Wally had done for him already.

“Sure, babe. You in your room? I’ll be there ASAP.” He hung up. Dick barely had time to consider calling back to ask him not to put himself out on his behalf before Wally tumbled through the door, caught himself before faceplanting and then swept Dick off the bed in an airborne hug that left Dick’s feet dangling a foot off the floor.

“Hey,” he whispered before setting Dick back down. “How are you holding up? Ooh, tea. Chamomile? Mum always makes chamomile tea when I’m sad.”

“Your mum and Alfred are practically the same person.”

“I’m not sure if you just complimented or insulted my mother.” Wally visibly tried to focus himself. “Sorry, babe. Did I ask how you’re doing?”

“Just before you got distracted by the tea,” Dick replied. Wally’s distraction had managed to lift his mood, if only temporarily. “I’m… not doing so great. Uncle Rick…” The name was a barb in his throat. “He died no more than a few weeks before I returned to Gotham, Wally.” He let Wally pull him into another embrace, burying his face in the speedster’s shoulder. “I should’ve been there.” His chest burned… his throat ached… it was like watching them fall all over again…

“Don’t you start with that,” Wally said sharply. “I swear to God, if you start blaming yourself—”

“Bit late for that, Wall.”

Wally sighed. “Oh, Dick.”

“I want to visit his grave,” Dick murmured.

“Anything you need, babe.” Wally kissed the top of his head before letting him go. “I’ll get Alfred.”

* * *

 

Dick had Wally’s hand in a death grip the whole car ride down the hill to the cemetery. A bouquet of white roses he had picked from the garden with Wally and Alfred lay in his lap. It had been tradition, years ago, that Bruce would take Dick to visit his family’s graves with white roses on the anniversary. Dick had offered to accompany Bruce to Crime Alley for his own parents, but Bruce had just smiled, ruffled his hair and declined with a thank you. Bruce had never liked showing too much of his pain to Dick; he hadn’t wanted to burden him with it. That was Bruce in a nutshell, burying his own pain while he did his best to make sure nobody else would ever have to experience the same thing for themselves. It was difficult for somebody who hadn’t felt it to understand the need that drove Bruce, which sometimes left him at odds with the rest of the League. Dick understood, though, because he’d lived through it, too.

“We have arrived, sirs,” Alfred said, pulling the car up to the curb. Wally gave Dick’s hand a squeeze and helped him out of the car, holding the flowers for him, while Alfred stayed near the car to keep a respectable distance. Alfred had told them Uncle Rick was buried with the rest of the family, so Dick took the lead; he’d never brought Wally here before. The thought had crossed his mind once, but he had died before he’d had the chance to act on it.

When they reached the right row, Dick faltered. Wally handed him the bouquet.

“I’m right here, babe,” he whispered, resting his chin on the top of Dick’s head. “Take your time. Breathe.”

Dick took a long breath through his nose. “Okay. I can do this.” He started forward again, reaching for Wally’s hand for reassurance. His hand was clammy around the tissue paper guarding the rose stems and his feet weighed him down like they had been nailed to the ground.

He recognised the shape of his family’s tombstones and picked out his uncle’s immediately, since the elements hadn’t had as much time to weather it. Dick plucked four of the flowers from the bouquet and laid one each on the graves of his parents, aunt and cousin before resting the remainder against Uncle Rick’s headstone.

The etched words—a name, dates, a small epitaph—dug into Dick’s chest like the writer had taken up the chisel on his body. He knelt on the damp earth, running his fingers over the letters. The whole concept of capturing the essence of a whole person in a few words embedded in cold, dead stone suddenly seemed ludicrous and inadequate.

Dick let his hand fall as he gazed at the row of tombstones, the little pieces of his heart that had been torn off and drained until they shrivelled up and died. He had wondered many times over the years he could go through this before it finally killed him. Staring at the lifeless stone with a dull but persistent ache spreading through his chest, he was starting to think he finally had his answer. He could feel tears building up inside him, but they couldn’t fall. His insides had turned to ice.

Wally’s breath was warm against his ear. “We can stay here as long as you need, babe.”

Dick nodded in thanks. “I’m… glad you’re here. I don’t know if I could’ve…” He trailed off. Speaking was too painful. Wally held him tighter, pressing soft kisses to his ear, his temple, his cheek. His presence kept Dick from shattering completely. Even then, Dick could feel his entire body shaking, his breaths snagging in his tightening throat.

“You’re not alone, Dick,” Wally whispered. “I know sometimes you feel like it, especially when you think about your family, so I just wanted to say that now.” He couldn’t possibly know how much that meant to Dick. “You’ve got a new family, babe, and they know what you’re going through. Bruce, Alfred, even Jason—they get it.” The ice around Dick’s heart cracked with the warmth of Wally’s words. “And then there’s me. Well, you know. I’ve always tried to understand as much as I can. I know I can’t relate completely, but—”

“I’m glad you can’t,” Dick said quietly. “It’s… not something I’d wish on anybody.” He ran the pad of his thumb across his uncle’s name, managing a watery smile; the crack in his ice armour had loosened his tears. “Uncle Rick… he would’ve thought you were hilarious. His sense of humour was just as ridiculous as yours.”

Wally snorted, nuzzling Dick’s neck. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment.”

“I wish you could’ve met him,” Dick murmured; the brief improvement in his mood had already dissipated. “I just… fuck… I wish I’d come back sooner. If I hadn’t been so caught up in revenge like an _idiot_ …”

“Babe, you were hurting.” Wally’s arms tightened around Dick’s middle while he pressed kisses onto the younger boy’s neck. “You didn’t know what was going on with your uncle. You’re not… you can’t be everywhere, Dick. You don’t even know if your presence would have made a difference. What if it was just his time?”

“Then I should’ve been there,” Dick said roughly. “He shouldn’t have had to die alone.”

“He wasn’t alone,” came a deep voice from behind them.

Dick jumped. “Bruce!” Wally tensed behind him, but didn’t move away.

“I was there with him.” Bruce sat on the grass beside the couple. Jason was standing back alongside Alfred. “The hospice called to inform me he had fallen into a coma. He died a few hours later.” He reached out, a little awkwardly, and patted the top of the headstone. “Your uncle was a fascinating man, Dick. I visited him a lot during the last two years.”

It felt wrong that Bruce had been the one visiting Uncle Rick, rather than him. He, Dick Grayson, had been too busy wallowing in self-pity and plotting revenge to spare his uncle another thought. How could he have been so selfish?

“He wouldn’t blame you, Dick,” Bruce said quietly. “None of us do. He’d just want you to get better.”

The hard thing was, Dick knew Bruce was right. But that didn’t make him any less blame-worthy. He’d killed hundreds of people, tried to force Batman to become a murderer himself, and abandoned his family and friends. The things he had done were unforgiveable.

“I’m going to take Jason home,” Bruce said, getting up. “Alfred will be here when you’re ready.” He steered Jason, who had been gawking at Dick and Wally, out of the cemetery. Dick made an active decision to leave handling his accidental coming out until later.

“I can stay over tonight if you want,” Wally told him.

Dick sighed, biting down his own selfish feelings. “I want you to, but it’s a school night. I’ve already made you miss enough school already.”

“I’ll just zeta over to Central in the morning. No biggie. You need me tonight.” As if to demonstrate his point, Wally slowly stroked the skin covering Dick’s jugular to soothe him, a little discovery the redhead had made soon after they had started dating. It was the strangest thing. Dick had never let anyone else close enough to his neck to discover that before. Wally pressed a kiss to his pulse point. Dick hummed softly and shut his eyes, his resolve melting away.

“Show-off,” he murmured. He felt calmer already.

“We should get you home,” Wally said quietly. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but the ground’s wet as hell and I don’t want you getting sick.”

“I’d always thought hell would be a dry place.” Dick wasn’t quite able to salvage his old joking demeanour, but Wally laughed anyway.

“Come on, you. We can come back tomorrow if you need to.” Wally pulled him to his feet, brushing damp grass off both of their pants. Wally took his hand, gentle but still firm enough to ground him in the present, and followed Alfred back to the car.

* * *

 

Dick felt too sick to eat at dinner. His wrists were itching and he kept them covered to hide both the old scars and the temptation to add more. He hadn’t hurt himself in a while; music and alcohol had been effective enough coping mechanisms of late. Even so, he was worried what would happen if he was left alone tonight. He had never been more grateful for Barry’s trust in both Bruce and Wally, which led him to telling Wally’s parents he was on a mission but would be back home in the morning for school, with minimal prodding on Bruce’s part.

Wally seemed to sense it wasn’t the best idea to leave Dick alone. The pair was curled up under a blanket on the couch in Bruce’s home cinema, watching stupid cartoons. Wally was laughing like a maniac at anything and everything, even the stuff that wasn’t even funny; Dick didn’t quite have it in him to join in. Bruce looked in on them occasionally, bothering less and less with discretion each time. It didn’t matter; Dick noticed him regardless of how sneaky he tried to be. One of the benefits of being raised by the man, he supposed.

Jason eventually joined them, adding his laughter to Wally’s. He seemed to be over his earlier shock. Dick cracked a small smile; the mirth in the air was contagious. On any other day, he might have been in hysterics himself. Even Bruce seemed close to losing it the next time he poked his head in.

“That’s it,” Wally said when the credits were rolling. “We’re having a marathon.”

“It’s a school night,” Dick reminded him.

“I had a pet rock when I was five.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Oh, sorry. I thought we were talking about things that didn’t matter.”

Dick elbowed him, smirking. “Moron.”

Wally nipped his earlobe and climbed off the couch to grab the remote, which he had been dumb enough to place on top of the DVD player. “How many more episodes do you think we can watch before Alfred drags us off to bed by the ears?”

“Five,” Dick replied, pulling a random number out of his head.

“Two,” Bruce amended from his spot in the doorway. “It’s already late.” Dick would have expected him to be out on patrol by now.

“Don’t you have a city to babysit?” said Dick.

“The police can take care of her for a night,” Bruce replied. “If they need me, they’ll use the batsignal.” He came into the room properly and settled himself into a recliner. Wally started another episode and rejoined Dick under the blanket. Nobody batted an eye. Dick wasn’t sure whether to be concerned or relieved. Wally’s lips on his temple scrambled his brain too much to dwell on it.

They barely got through one episode before Alfred came to send them to bed. Wally’s sleeping bag was already laid out on an air mattress in Dick’s room, but he ignored it in favour of Dick’s bed, which was plenty big enough for the both of them. Dick, safely nestled in Wally’s arms, set out relaxing his body piece-by-piece. He uncurled his toes and loosened his shoulders and tangled his legs with Wally’s.

“I never told him I was Robin,” he whispered into the darkness. Wally tightened his grip around him in response, seeming to recognise that words weren’t what Dick needed from him right now. “I’d thought about it, but I was worried it’d… scare him, I guess. We’d already lost everyone else. I mean, he encouraged me to keep practising, keep the family tradition alive in some way, but he made me swear to always use a safety net on the trapeze, make sure I have a spotter, all that. He’d become so risk-averse and I didn’t want to…” Dick swallowed, the words falling from his grip. “He just wanted me to be safe.”

Wally made a soft, comforting noise, combing his fingers through Dick’s hair. Dick could tell he desperately wanted to tell him Uncle Rick would have been proud of him, of what he was doing, but for once he stayed quiet, for which Dick was grateful. He needed to get this out before it poisoned him.

“At first, being Robin was about finding justice for my family,” Dick continued. “Robin was a nickname Mum gave to me when I was very small. But after Bruce and I brought Zucco in, Robin became something… more. Batman’s always used fear to fight crime and I inherited that from him, but Robin was about more than that. He was hope, you know? Why else do you think I’d run around in bright colours?”

“And green scaly panties,” Wally said before he could stop himself.

“Okay, number one: shut up. Number two: they were not _panties_. Number three: they seemed like a good idea at the time. It was years before Bruce let me design my own costume again.”

“I don’t blame him.” Wally buried his face in Dick’s hair, sniggering. “Okay, they weren’t panties. Do you prefer the word _knickers_?”

Dick jabbed him hard in the ribs. “Wally, so help me…”

“Ow!” Wally jerked away. “Kidding! I’m kidding! Jesus! Do you stick your fingers in a pencil sharpener every morning?”

Dick stopped attacking him and snuggled closer again. “No, I do that to people who piss me off.”

Wally hesitantly put his arms back around him. “Remind me to stay on your good side.”

“Don’t worry, I will. What was I talking about before you brought up the _garments that must not be named_?”

“Robin’s a beacon of hope or something,” Wally said quietly, tucking Dick’s head under his.

“Yeah. Getting murdered kind of killed that for me.”

Wally groaned at the wordplay.

“I swear that was an accident.”

“ _Sure_ it was.” Dick threw him a glare strong enough to almost _taste_. “I’m sorry, go on.”

“I’ve seen too much to be Robin,” Dick murmured. “But I’m no Batman. I’ve tried to out-Batman Batman. It’s impossible. But I… want to be a hero again. I’m not sure Uncle Rick would ever want that for me, but better that than the Red Hood. I’m too hooked to give it up entirely. I’m not sure I could ever live a normal life. Uncle Rick would understand _that_ , at least. The circus ran through his veins just like it still runs through mine. Normal lives are for normal people. I’m not normal. Never have been.”

“Thank God for that.” The smile in Wally’s voice was audible. “You _loved_ being Robin. Speaking as somebody who knew both Robin and Dick Grayson, I feel safe in saying you were happiest when you were wearing the cape.”

“I hated the cape,” Dick admitted. “Always got in the way.”

Wally blew a raspberry. “You know what I mean.”

Dick snorted. “I know.” He felt so much better after getting all this off his chest.

“Got any ideas for a new identity?”

“Some. I’ll need permission from someone to use the one I like best, though.”

“Sweet. But… maybe leave the costume design to Bruce.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had been working on an alternate version of this arc where Dick's uncle was still in a coma and died later but it dragged on way too long and I was getting sick of having to squeeze the words out when they didn't want to come so we're back to the original storyline.


	20. Bearable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick returns to the graveyard to get some things off his chest in private. It's not as depressing as it sounds, I swear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only a few chapters to go until the end, but I'm going to spend July's Camp NaNoWriMo working on the sequel, which will be interesting since I've been busy with this story so I literally have NOTHING planned yet.

Alfred dropped Dick off at the cemetery late the next morning. Jason and Wally were at school and Bruce was at work, so this was the perfect time for some privacy. Dick had a new cell phone and a distress beacon in case somebody tried to kidnap or murder him again, but he wasn’t all that concerned. He needed to get some things off his chest. Talking to Wally last night had helped, but there was somebody he owed an explanation. And about twenty apologies.

“I’m sorry I never told you,” he said to the cold stone bearing his uncle’s name. “You had a right to know what I’ve been doing since Bruce took me in. And I’m sorry I didn’t come straight home as soon as I was able after the Lazarus Pit. I’m sorry for the things I’ve done in the name of revenge. I’m sorry I didn’t see you one last time before you were gone.”

Dick took in a deep breath, the smell of damp grass and earth filling his nostrils. It was quiet out here, but he had still made sure he was alone before speaking.

“Being Robin was the happiest… no… _second_ happiest time of my life,” Dick continued, kneeling to straighten yesterday’s bouquet, which was already wilting. “After we brought Zucco in, I felt like a huge weight was lifted from my shoulders. I helped bring him in. I _helped_ Batman stop the man who broke our family. That was my first taste of justice, and I loved it. Wally still makes fun of my old costume. I guess it’s warranted. Nine-year-olds aren’t the best fashion designers.” He chuckled a little. He actually felt okay, even as he was standing before the grave of who had been his last living blood relative. “I know, after the ‘accident’, you just wanted me to be safe. That’s another thing I’m sorry for. I can’t guarantee my own safety but, honestly, no one can. You’re a testament to that.”

The guilt still sat in his stomach, but at this point Dick was starting to think it was just something he’d have to learn to live with. He would never forget this and that was for the best, really. It surprised him to find, maybe, he really could live with it. He hadn’t been so sure yesterday, and he had a feeling he mightn’t be so sure tomorrow, but, for now, the weight was bearable.

“I’ve done a lot of things over the last few months that I regret,” he said quietly. “I… I want to make up for them. Cutting myself off from my old life isn’t gonna work. Believe me, I’ve tried. This life, the thrills, the people, the _everything_ … I can’t give it up. I was never supposed to stand still, Uncle. I’m going to be a hero again. It’s gonna take a while to feel right after everything that’s happened, but I’ve got time and I’ve got people who are here to help me. I’m just sorry I couldn’t share it with you.”

There was rushing sound and a long, loud _crack_ in the air above him. Dick looked up and grinned when he recognised the blue-and-red costume. Superman touched down a few feet away and walked the rest of the distance, swooping Dick up into a bear hug.

“Dick!” Superman set him back down on the ground. “I read in the paper you were back. A kidnapping and amnesia story, huh?”

Dick shrugged. “We didn’t want to make it too complicated.”

“It works for me. What really happened?”

“I got better,” Dick said dryly.

“You’re going to say that to every person who asks, aren’t you?”

“At least I didn’t get turned into a newt.”

“I…” Superman sighed. “I can’t believe Barry let you watch Monty Python the one time Bruce let him babysit you.”

“That’s okay. Bruce didn’t either, until I said nothing but _ni_ the next time we went out on patrol.” Dick almost felt like his old self. Messing around with Clark made him feel like he was back in the green shorts, in a good way. “In all seriousness, though, I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“I respect that,” Superman said, his voice deliberately light. “I’m sorry about your uncle.”

“Thanks,” Dick murmured, glancing back to the headstone.

“If it helps, Bruce told him about your identity shortly after you died. I was down the street conducting an interview at the time and couldn’t help overhearing.”

“I… oh.” Now Dick felt like an idiot. His irritation with Bruce won out over that, though. “In that case, Bruce and I will be having a little talk when he gets home.” He wasn’t _upset_ that Rick had known, but it hadn’t exactly been Bruce’s secret to tell.

“Don’t go too hard on him,” Superman said. There was a small plea in his voice that made Dick uncomfortable. Superman wasn’t the pleading sort. In fact, generally speaking, only Bruce and Diana could put him in his place.

“Uh, sure. Okay.” Dick shook off the discomfort. “Look, Superman—”

“You can call me Clark when it’s just us, Dick. Many things might’ve changed recently, but that hasn’t.”

“I… yeah.” Dick rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I wanted to ask you something. Well, _for_ something, really.”

“Whatever it is, Dick, it’s yours,” Clark said without hesitation.

“You remember telling me about the Kryptonian hero who inspired you to become Superman?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I’m thinking about returning to the whole superhero thing and I was wondering if I, uh—”

“You need a name? It’s all yours.”

“Wow, really?”

“Hey, I said I’d agree to whatever you wanted.” Clark was grinning from ear to ear. Dick could feel himself smiling in response.

* * *

 

The combination of his graveside confessions and Clark’s visit left Dick feeling much lighter for the rest of the day. Bruce came home in the evening to find him sitting on the counter in the kitchen, cheerfully pestering Alfred while he made dinner.

“Somebody’s in a good mood,” Bruce commented, loosening his tie.

“Clark visited,” Dick replied, sobering somewhat. “Why didn’t you tell me you told Uncle Rick?” He wasn’t mad, not anymore, but the revelation still confused him.

“He had a right to know,” Bruce said, avoiding the question. “You weren’t killed due to a random act of fate, Dick.”

“I fell in the line of duty,” Dick said with a hint of irritation. “Blah blah blah. Look, I forgive you for it, so don’t put on your guilt shoes just yet. Oh, wait, I forgot. You’re always wearing them.”

“Dick—”

“I’m not mad, Bruce,” Dick interrupted. “Seriously, I’m not. I’m… glad he knew about it.”

Alfred grabbed a stack of plates and cutlery and escaped to the dining room to let the pair talk it out in private. Bruce shut the door behind him.

“He was very proud of you,” he said, resting a hand on his ward’s shoulder. “Sad, of course, but proud nonetheless. I think it brought him some comfort to know you hadn’t been completely helpless.”

Dick nodded slowly; the conversation had brought down his mood a bit from his previous high, but he could deal with it. “Did he… I don’t know… have any opinions on heroes? I mean… I… crap.”

Bruce smirked a little at Dick’s word-vomit. “He thought they were important, and necessary. Without Batman and Robin, Zucco might have escaped. Without the League, the world would have been destroyed several times over. He didn’t see them as a replacement for ordinary police… more of a safety net, in his words.”

Dick let himself laugh. “Of course he’d say something like that.” The pain of losing Uncle Rick was still raw as hell but, unlike when the Flying Graysons had first fallen, Dick could see that he would heal. That he’d get better. He could make do with that for now.

“I gave Dinah a call on the way home,” Bruce told him after a moment. “She can see you tomorrow if you want to talk to her.”

“I guess I should,” Dick replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wanted to run a few things by her… after I discussed them with you.” He felt a lot more secure in his decision after what Bruce had told him about his uncle.

“I’m listening.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about the future,” Dick started. “I know the last time we talked, I didn’t think I was up to becoming a hero again.”

“But?”

“But I don’t know what else I can do,” Dick continued. “Wally made it pretty clear that he thought going back out as the Red Hood was a terrible idea, not least because you and I would just get in each other’s way all the time and never get anything done. Besides, I would’ve lost all my credibility with the dealers by now after I got my ass kicked by you and then vanished. So, yeah, not gonna do that, even if I wanted to.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Dick tapped his heels against the cupboard in the counter he was sitting on. “I want to go back out into the city again, not as your rival, but… not a partner, really, since there are three of us now… a colleague? Battle BFF?” Bruce snorted. “Augh, you know what I mean. The position’s free, since Wally’s graduated up to Battle Boyfriend… which doesn’t seem to faze you for some reason.”

“I saw it coming a mile away, Dick,” Bruce replied. “The only person who was surprised was Jason, and he’s over that now. Wally’s been good for you. I have to respect that, even if the thought of my son dating… concerns me.”

“You’re scared I’m growing up,” Dick translated. “Somehow the red helmet didn’t freak you out enough.”

“Your version of the Red Hood was born from an unhealthy place, Dick,” Bruce replied. “That’s something we can combat. You growing up, dating… it’s not something I can, or should want to, fight.”

“You do realise I was dating Zatanna before I got roasted, right?”

Bruce shrugged. “It seemed different when you were thirteen. Puppy love. I do hope you’re going to talk to her about that at some point.”

“I will,” Dick promised. “I’d never leave her hanging. But we’re long over. Wally and I… well, we’ve been doing our little dance of denial for years.”

“How very poetic, Master Dick,” Alfred said, returning to the kitchen to check on the roast.

“Thanks, Alfie. Nice to hear somebody appreciates me.” Dick turned his attention back to Bruce. “I want to make it clear, Bruce: Wally and I are in it for the long haul. And I hope to be fighting at his side again as soon as I’m ready.”

“It’s going to take time,” Bruce replied. “I want to be absolutely sure you can handle it before I put you back in the field for good.”

“Probationary period?” Dick grumbled inwardly but tried not to let it show, because he knew Bruce was right. “I… I can handle that.”

“So, I take it you have a name?” asked Bruce.

“Damn right I do. Got Clark’s permission and everything.”

“Why did you need Clark’s permission?”

“You’ll see.” Dick threw him an enigmatic smile as he slid off the counter and left the kitchen. He was a performer down to his very bones; moments of drama had to be taken and cherished. He was especially fond of dramatic exits.


	21. Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman and Robin go on a mission while Dick runs mission control from the Batcave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's okay, guys. I'm still alive. Much of this chapter was written during the current Camp NaNoWriMo, so that's why it's taken a while to be ready to share.

Later that evening, the whole family, plus Wally, was seated at the dinner table, about halfway through the meal, when Alfred looked out the window.

“Sir?” he said to Bruce. “The bat signal has been lit.”

Bruce sighed, setting down his knife and fork. “I better suit up. Save some cake for me.”

Jason jumped out of his seat as Bruce made for the door. “I’m coming with you.” Bruce’s response was drowned out by the sound of the door snapping shut.

“So…” Wally grinned up at Alfred. “Does that mean I can have two slices of cake?”

Dick elbowed him. “No way. Jason will try to kill you and then Bruce will give him _his_ cake to calm him down and maim you in your sleep himself.”

“That’s… a very detailed answer.” Wally paused in the act of shovelling mashed potato into his mouth to give Dick an exaggerated look of fear. “Your mind’s a scary place.”

“That’s why I’ve got a therapist,” Dick said nonchalantly, cutting up his steak. He’d taken a few bites before he noticed Wally hadn’t gone back to eating. “Dude, it was a joke.”

“Yeah, I…” Wally sighed. “I know.”

Knowing this wasn’t going to be resolved if he just dropped the subject, Dick set his cutlery aside and twisted in his seat until he was facing Wally head-on. “Okay, clearly we need to talk. What’s up?” He noticed Alfred leave the room in his peripheral vision.

Wally reached out and took one of his hands in both of his, rubbing his palms over the skin. “It’s nothing, really. I just worry about you sometimes. A lot, actually. I never really stop.”

“Wally, I—”

“Shh.” One of his hands moved to cup Dick’s cheek. “It’s not your fault. It’s just... you’ve changed. Honestly, it’s not your fault. What you went through would change anyone.” Dick swallowed back the ghost of nausea at the mere mention of what had happened to him. “You don’t sleep. Sometimes you don’t eat. Your mood gets so volatile sometimes that if it were a physical, tangible thing, we could use it to blow the moon out of orbit.”

“And here I thought I was doing better,” Dick muttered.

“You are. Really.” Wally let Dick’s hand drop and cupped his face in both of his. “And I’m proud of you. But we both know things have been rough and they’re going to keep being rough for a long time. You took your uncle’s death hard yesterday, but you’ve been fine today… but that’s no real indicator for how you’ll feel tomorrow.”

“I _know_ that,” Dick said irritably. This wasn’t news to him. He’d been dealing with his problems for a lot longer than Wally had even been aware of them. “It just would’ve been nice if I’d been allowed to feel okay for a bit longer before getting dragged back down again.”

Wally grimaced, pulling Dick into his arms. “I’m sorry, babe… honey… sweetie.”

Dick couldn’t suppress a weak laugh. “Eventually our conversations are just going to devolve into an endless stream of pet names.” He snuggled closer, feeling Wally’s arms tighten around him, and felt a little better.

“Is there anything I can do? You know, to help?”

“Just being here helps me more than anything else has,” Dick murmured into Wally’s shirt. He glanced up to find Wally smiling down at him and reached up to steal what was supposed to be a quick kiss, only to have Wally catch his lips enthusiastically and kiss him right back. Wally’s tongue teased the inside of Dick’s lips, but darted back out before Dick could respond. Damn speedsters.

Alfred cleared his throat. “I take it the two of you are finished eating?”

Wally pulled away so fast he fell off the chair and landed on his ass. Dick snorted.

“Shut up,” Wally grumbled, climbing back up. Alfred smiled good-naturedly and began to clear the table.

“Would you like dessert or shall we save it until tomorrow evening, sirs?”

“Save it,” Dick said between giggles. He really had to get a handle on this ridiculous laughing reflex. “We’ll be in the Batcave if you need us.” He grabbed Wally by the wrist and dragged him out of the room.

“What? Why?”

“I think it’s about time I grew the hell up and went back in there,” Dick replied shortly, still dragging Wally along. “I need to train and I can’t do that properly if I keep avoiding it.”

“Fair enough.” Wally finally got his feet under him and started moving under his own power. “I take it you’re not dragging me down there just to make out in the computer chair…”

“When I was Robin, I sometimes ran mission control for Bruce when I wasn’t in the field,” Dick replied as they entered the study. “I thought I’d figure out what they’re doing tonight and see what I can do to help from this end.” He pulled the pendulum on the grandfather clock, which then slid away to reveal the entrance. Dick let out a long breath and stepped inside, clutching Wally’s hand.

Their footsteps echoed in the dark, curving stairwell, the occasional crystalline sound of water drops pinging in their ears.

“So that’s a no to making out or…?”

“I’ll consider it, if you’re good.” There was just enough light for Wally to make out Dick’s wicked, sharp smile.

“Nothing good ever comes out of that face you’re pulling, Dick.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs. As always, the Batcave was dimly lit and there was a low hum emanating from the idling batcomputer. Dick settled himself in the big leather chair, waking the computer, while Wally squeezed into the sliver of space beside him.

“Is it always freezing down here?” he complained.

“Usually,” Dick replied absently, his eyes fixed on the screen. “It’s a little warmer in the summer but Bruce likes to keep the temperature low for the computer. He never even feels the cold. I remember my first Christmas here. It was _freezing_ , but we still had to go out and stop Calendar Man from murdering guys in Santa costumes. That was _not_ a fun evening. But after we were done and we got home, Bruce took off his cape and wrapped me in it. It was warm like an electric blanket. The guy’s a freaking space heater, I swear. But, hey, I wasn’t cold anymore. That was before he designed a second costume with tights.”

Wally sniggered. “Do you still have the Robin panties?”

“There’s a set of _shorts_ on display with the rest of my original costume because Bruce is a packrat, but I don’t know if he kept the spares,” Dick replied. “And, no, I’m not going to wear them for you.”

“You read my mind.”

“I know how you think, West.” Dick made a dinging noise. “There they are. Amusement Mile.” Dick brought up the footage from Batman’s cowl and Robin’s mask. “What’s up, guys?” he said into the microphone beside the keyboard. “Fill me in and I’ll see what I can do on my end.”

“Harley Quinn’s escaped from Arkham, it appears,” Batman replied. “The police received reports of strange lights and noises coming from the abandoned amusement park and the Arkham guards have confirmed they cannot locate her.”

“Watch out for her,” Dick warned. “She won’t be happy since I nearly killed J. She’ll find a way to blame you.”

“I’ll survive,” Batman replied. “While you’re there, see what you can dig up about any possible associates. And give me a name to call you by.”

“Call me Nightwing,” Dick replied, bringing up Bruce’s extensive database on the Joker’s people. “I’ll get started. Take care. You too, Little Wing.”

Robin made a disgusted noise. “Don’t call me that.” Wally snickered into Dick’s shoulder.

“Whatever you say, kid.” Dick turned off the mic to let Batman and Robin get back to work. He cracked his knuckles and got searching, Wally cuddling up to his side. “There are blankets in the medical supplies cupboard, top shelf.” Wally zoomed off and was back before Dick had a chance to look around. “You know, I thought speedsters had some resistance to cold. I mean, you generate enough heat to melt a hole in snow if you really try.”

“Resistance, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I can’t turn into an icicle if you put me in the freezer.” Wally crawled back into his spot beside Dick and threw the blanket over both of them. “Besides, you’re all knees and elbows when you’re cold but you get cuddly when you’re all warm and toasty.”

Dick couldn’t help a goofy grin. “You’re such a sap.” He kept an eye on the camera footage while he compiled a list of likely henchmen, which he sent to Batman’s wrist computer as he went. Most of them were the typical dumb underling sort, more muscle than brains. They wouldn’t give the Dynamic Duo any real trouble. Hell, all going well, Harley wouldn’t give them any real trouble, either. Joker was most certainly the brains of the couple.

“You doing okay?” Wally asked after a while, one of his fingers trailing down Dick’s spine.

Dick shivered at the contact, closing his eyes as Wally repeated the action. “I’m okay. The Joker’s not going anywhere with a broken femur and a chest full of shattered ribs.” Dick’s focus drifted back to his work. “Batman and Robin are going to be fine. Harley never was all that bright. Goes to show a college degree isn’t an indicator of intelligence.”

“She went to college?”

“She was a shrink before Joker brought her over to the dark side,” Dick replied, sending off another list of potential henchmen to Batman’s computer. “Joker’s shrink at Arkham, actually. He can be smooth when he wants to be. I don’t even _want_ to know what he did to get her on side.”

Wally hummed distractedly, too busy nuzzling Dick’s neck.

“You’re going fall asleep in class tomorrow, you know,” Dick said, planting a quick kiss on Wally’s forehead before continuing to sift through Batman’s files.

Wally grunted, curling up around Dick and nearly pushing him out of the chair. “Don’t care.”

“You’re going to faceplant on the ground if you keep that up.” Dick was nearly finished with the files. “I mean, it’ll be hilarious and I’ll laugh myself stupid but… oh, shit.”

Wally jerked upright. “What’s up?”

“Batman?” Dick said into the microphone. “You there?”

“What is it, Nightwing?”

“You remember the conjoined Abramovici twins Joker recruited from that Russian circus a few years back?”

“Vividly.”

“One of them was still working for Joker before everybody’s favourite homicidal clown got thrown in Arkham a couple years back,” Dick continued. “In case that isn’t a clue, the conjoined twins aren’t so much conjoined as… unjoined, I guess.”

“Which one am I up against?”

“He goes by Mr Hammer,” Dick replied. “He and his brother busted out of Blackgate a while back but they’re not on speaking terms. The other brother, Mr Sickle, fell in with Penguin, but that’s a problem for another day. Last time you fought them, B, they were still conjoined. After you kicked their asses, Joker had them separated. Mr Hammer will be faster and more agile than last time now that he isn’t weighed down by his brother. If he’s there, you two better watch the hell out.”

“We will,” Batman replied. He and Robin leapt inside a broken-down duck-shooting booth to get the jump on a nearby group of goons. “Thank you, Nightwing.”

“You’re very welcome,” Dick said brightly. “I’m done with the files but I’ll stay connected in case you need anything else.”

“I doubt that will be necessary,” Batman murmured as the thugs grew closer.

“Don’t worry about it. Go kick ass. Maybe KF and I will get some popcorn and enjoy the show.”

Batman and Robin emerged from their hiding place and took out four thugs simultaneously. Dick whistled; Jason was actually pretty good, if lacking in finesse. Dick was starting to look forward to training with him. The Robin costume was a glorified target on the kid’s back; Dick had learned that the hard way. If he could somehow prevent what happened to him happening to Jason…

“What are you thinking about?” Wally asked, nudging him.

“Jason,” Dick said quietly. “What’s he been like on missions?”

Wally hesitated, which immediately put Dick on edge. “Uh, well, he’s a bit of a loose cannon, really. Not always the best at following orders. Remember how you always used to do that little disappearing act?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Well, he’s like that except with punching people.” Wally gave a small smile. “It’s kind of funny when you’re not in the middle of a mission. He’s gotten better, though. I think Bruce gave him a bit of a talking-to. But he still doesn’t like taking orders so the rest of the team finds him a bit frustrating. Kaldur tries not to let it show but it’s kind of obvious he’s come close to yelling at the kid.”

“Great,” Dick muttered.

“I’ve been trying to look out for him, but it hasn’t been easy,” Wally said. “I don’t think he likes me.”

“You’re an acquired taste, Wally. Let’s be real here.”

Wally snorted. “You’re such a nice boyfriend.”

“Oh, please. With the exception of M’gann, you’re not attracted to people who are nice to you,” Dick replied. “You and Artemis were at each other’s throats for months. Admit it, Wally, you’ve got a type.”

“And what type would that be, Boy Genius?”

“Oh, you know…” Dick shrugged. “…badasses who can wipe the floor with you and don’t let you get away with anything.”

Wally let out a sigh. “It’s funny. Kent Nelson said something like that after he convinced Nabu to let me go. Told me to find my own little spitfire, one who won’t let me get away with nothing.”

“Wow, he had you pegged.”

“Yeah,” Wally said quietly, burying his face in Dick’s neck. Dick tangled his free hand in the other boy’s hair while he scrolled through the files one last time, keeping an eye on the camera footage he’d shifted to the side of the screen. Batman and Robin had entered the House of Mirrors so things were getting a little disorienting.

“You okay, Wally?”

“Yeah, I… yeah.” Wally sat up and gave Dick a wan smile. “I just… death doesn’t agree with me, you know?”

“I know.” Dick closed the file; he’d learned all he could from it anyway. “It’s rough losing somebody and knowing you’ll never see them again… well, unless you believe in an afterlife or something, I guess.”

“I’m not sure what to believe anymore.”

“Me neither.” Dick brought his legs up into the warmth of the blanket, the two boys manoeuvring so they could curl up against each other.  “Dying didn’t give me any special insight. After I died, the next memory I have is of waking up in the Pit.” Wally pressed a kiss to Dick’s forehead and the younger boy’s stomach stopped twisting inside him.

Batman and Robin had worked their way through the hall of mirrors with minimal fighting, which seemed strange to Dick. It would have been a good place for an ambush, given the place’s disorienting nature. Then, there was a loud thud and a flurry of movement as Batman and Robin dived for cover.

“You guys okay?” Dick said into the microphone.

“We’re fine,” Batman replied. “We found Abramovici and Quinn’s henchmen. Robin, stay close to me and out of his reach. He won’t have much control with his hammer. We can let him pick off his allies when he swings.”

“That’s stupid,” Robin retorted. “We should take him out first.”

“Listen to Batman,” Dick replied sharply.

Mr Hammer’s words were lost a little through the connection, but the Russian accent was unmistakeable. The microphone in the cowl and mask cams wasn’t very good at picking up more distant sounds when damaged. Maybe it’d be worth coming up with sturdier prototypes while Dick was stuck at home anyway.

Batman and Robin leapt into action and Dick winced at the rapid movement; watching fights through the cam was disorienting as hell.

“You wish you were out there right now, don’t you?” Wally said, elbowing Dick in the ribs.

“That obvious, huh?” The flashes of action he could catch—a batarang knocking a thug’s gun away, Abramovici’s enormous hammer mowing down five of his compatriots, Batman’s fist connecting with a face—made his blood surge with adrenaline.

Most of the thugs were down when Harley’s high-pitched Jersey accent cut through the night: “What are ya waiting for, you idiots? GET THEM!” Robin’s camera zeroed in on her location by the merry-go-round. Her red-and-black costume had always been different enough from the Joker’s appearance that it had never set off Dick’s memories.

Batman and Robin took down the rest of the thugs and circled Abramovici. Harley let out a squeak and raced into the funhouse.

“We just gonna let her get away?” Robin snapped, ducking the swing of Abramovici’s hammer.

“We’ll get her when we’re done here,” Batman replied firmly. He got in close and landed a few heavy punches to Abramovici’s massive, scarred torso before leaping out of reach again.

“She might not be around that long!” Robin replied heatedly. Abramovici swung his hammer again and both vigilantes ducked. “This guy could take ages to go down!”

“Stay with me,” Batman barked. “That’s an order!”

Abramovici’s deep Russian accent carried through the speakers much clearer this time. “The little Robin could use some discipline, no?”

“Wow, three syllables,” Robin snarked, flipping away from a particularly violent hammer swing.

“He takes after you,” Wally said proudly to Dick. “Isn’t it adora—ow!” Dick had elbowed him in the gut to shut him up.

Batman and Robin each landed a few hits, but Abramovici barely seemed to have noticed. Robin was right; this fight could take a while. Dick focused best he could despite the shaky footage—getting a clear shot for the viewers at home wasn’t exactly a priority when there was a giant angry Russian dude swinging a hammer at your head.

“Goddammit!” Robin shouted after narrowly dodging another swing. “We don’t have time for this!”

“You guys could always run him over with the car,” Dick suggested, only half-joking.

“I am not scratching the paint,” Batman replied tightly.

“Do you think tazing him would work if you amped up the juice and both did it at the same time?” Dick suggested. “I’m _pretty_ sure he doesn’t have any superpowers. Or you could try getting him in the face. Or the neck. Somewhere vulnerable. Wait… aren’t tasers most effective when you get the torso? I think the best areas were upper hip, below ribs or upper shoulders…”

Batman jerked his head and Robin fell back while his mentor caught Abramovici’s attention with an electrified batarang. Mr Hammer roared and pulled it out of his chest, tossing it aside.

“Your toys are an insult, little Bat.” As expected, he focused his attention on Batman, giving Robin time to get behind him and pull out his taser. “You are a nuisance, a mere insect to be crushed.” The two wires in Robin’s taser shot out and hit their mark. Abramovici’s voice leapt an octave in surprise.

“Turn up the juice as high as it’ll go,” Dick instructed. The Russian’s yelp turned into a shriek, which was abruptly cut short as he began to convulse. He finally collapsed and Batman knocked him out with a boot to the head.

“Good work, Robin,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah.” Robin was already racing toward the funhouse. “We’ve still got a crazy clown chick to catch, remember?”

The pair entered the funhouse, where more of Harley’s goons were lying in wait. Dick counted seven, no heavy hitters among them—easy pickings.

“They’re stalling us,” Robin snapped, punching one of them out before he had the change to swing a lead pipe.

“Nightwing, building layout,” Batman commanded. “Now.”

“On it.” It didn’t take Dick long to track down the plans, since the funhouse was a permanent attraction at Amusement Mile. “Sending schematics to both of your wrist computers. Since you’re busy right now, I’ll save you some time and tell you what you already know. Since funhouses are designed for one-way traffic, there’s another exit. Harley might already be there, if she hasn’t slipped out already.”

The last two goons fell and Batman and Robin headed further inside, Batman taking a quick glance at the plans Dick had sent him. “Expect more resistance the further we go,” he told Robin. They fought their way through several more clumps of mindless mooks before getting to a bottleneck that would lead to the final room.

Unfortunately, there were about twenty of Harley’s thugs waiting for them. The guys they had faced previously had been typical Gotham muscle, but these ones were dressed as various circus freaks, particularly clowns and there were quite a few big, mean looking bastards among them. These people had likely been part of Joker’s organisation for years, sticking with him despite their boss’s numerous stays in Arkham hindering their operations.

“This is gonna take a while,” Robin muttered.

One of them, probably Batman, threw a smoke bomb into the bottleneck. While their opponents coughed, Batman and Robin charged in and managed to take out half the room by the time the smoke had cleared enough to see.

“Stop them, you idiots!” Harley’s shrill voice tumbled through the air, but she was nowhere in sight. “There are two of them! TWO! AND ONE OF THEM’S A KID!”

“She sounds upset,” Robin said. “I wonder why?”

“Sarcastic little shit,” Wally whispered affectionately. Dick was starting to like this kid.

“Focus, Robin.” Batman shattered a red clown nose but its owner largely escaped harm and Batman was too distracted by somebody trying to light his cape on fire for a follow-up attack.

“She’s gonna leg it if we don’t hurry this up,” Robin said irritably, kicking somebody between the legs with enough force to make Dick wince. “We’ve taken most of these guys out. Only us of us needs to be here to—”

“Stay with me,” Batman barked. “That’s an order.”

“But—”

“Batman gave you an order,” Dick snapped. “Listen to him or I will personally kick your sorry ass to Canada and back. Are we clear?”

“I don’t have to listen to _you_ ,” Robin growled, catching a punch aimed for his face. Maybe Dick spoke to soon about actually liking him.

The last few thugs finally fell, leaving Batman and Robin free to proceed into the final room. Harley was leaning against the railing of a raised platform, an oversized mallet resting on her shoulder.

“Finally,” she exclaimed. “I was starting to think I wouldn’t get to give you your present in person.”

“Enough games, Quinn,” Batman growled. “I’m taking you back to Arkham.”

Harley grinned, wicked and sharp. “Come and get me.”

“She’s got your smile,” Wally said to Dick. “You sure you two aren’t related?”

“Shut your face, Kid Mouth.”

A flood of Joker thugs spilled in through the exit door. Where the hell did Joker and Harley find all these people? Batman and Robin got to work immediately, dispatching their opponents as quickly as they could. Harley tried to creep towards the door while they were busy.

“Harley’s making a break for it,” Dick told them.

“I’m going after her,” Robin said.

“No,” Batman snarled. “Stay. Here.”

“But—”

“Shut the fuck up and do as you’re told,” Dick snapped.

Harley finally slipped out the door. Robin smacked down a few thugs on his way after her.

“God damn it, Jason! Go back to Batman now!”

“Shut it,” Robin hissed. Dick caught a glimpse of the earpiece in his hand; the little shit had taken it out.

“Son of a bitch,” Dick muttered. “Batman, Robin’s gone after Harley and he’s taken out his communicator.”

Batman uttered a word he never would have dared say in Alfred’s presence. “Track him. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Should I suit up?” asked Wally.

“Batman, Kid Flash can go after him if you—”

“No. Stay put.” Batman threw something onto the floor and the men around him started to cough and collapse. Batman was out the door before the first of them hit the ground.

“They haven’t gone far,” Dick said. “Go right, then straight until you hit the Ferris wheel. They’re around there somewhere.”

While Batman raced for the Ferris wheel, Dick kept an eye on Robin’s footage. He’d caught up with Harley and nearly got a mallet to the face, but ducked at the last moment.

“Hang in there, kid,” Dick murmured. “You’re an arrogant little prick but I don’t want you to die.”

Robin had to duck the mallet again. He couldn’t get close enough to land any hits of his own; Harley didn’t have Mr Hammer’s strength, but she was a hell of a lot faster.

“Wait ‘til Mister J hears I bagged myself a Robin,” Harley said brightly, swinging the mallet again. This time, it connected and Robin’s camera feed blacked out.

“Shit!” Dick’s fingers raced across the keyboard, trying to re-establish the connection. “Batman, I’ve lost Robin’s camera feed. They haven’t moved, but I can’t see what’s going on. He’s gotten hit at least once.”

The Ferris wheel was in sight on Batman’s camera feed. “I’m nearly there.” Batman’s breaths were coming harsh and quick through the audio. Dick imagined him sprinting flat-out like this to save him two years ago. He shook his head violently. That wasn’t productive thinking.

Wally’s hand was on his back. “Deep breaths, Dick. He’ll be okay.”

It was only then that Dick realised he had been close to hyperventilating. He had to calm the fuck down before he passed out. It’d be great fun trying to explain that to Alfred. Okay, breathe in, long breath out, slower, slower, draw out the exhalation longer than the inhalation. He knew how to handle this.

Batman reached the fighting pair. Robin was still on his feet, but he was bleeding from his hairline. Without missing a beat, Batman reached out and grabbed Harley’s hammer before she even realised he was there, then used it to knock her on her ass.

“Enough!” he roared. Robin cringed under the weight of the anger radiating off him. Wally shifted uncomfortably next to Dick.

“I could’ve taken her,” Robin grouched.

Batman didn’t respond, instead pressing a few buttons on his wrist computer. “Nightwing, send the police to our location.”

“On it, boss.”

The Batmobile screeched to a halt about ten feet away. “Get in the car,” he told Robin.

“But—”

“GET IN THE CAR!”

Robin headed for the Batmobile, not quite breaking into a run for the sake of his pride, but it was a close thing. Dick knew the feeling.

“Police are en route,” he said.

Batman loomed over Harley, who looked down at the ground with a squeak. Oh, he was going to be fun to deal with when he got home. Dick could feel the impending shouting match. Hopefully Alfred was still up to talk sense into everyone, because Dick certainly wasn’t going to be the voice of reason tonight. He was raring to have a good yell at Jason himself.

* * *

 

Batman and Robin were arguing as soon as they got out of the car. Jason had shucked his damaged mask but Batman was still in the cowl. Dick kind of envied his ability to hide behind it right in that moment.

“She was going to get away!” Jason shouted. “I couldn’t let her—”

“You disobeyed a direct order,” Batman said over him.

“It was a dumb order!”

“It was an order meant to keep you alive!”

“As if she would’ve—”

“Oh, shut up,” Dick interjected, slotting himself by Batman’s side.

“Harley Quinn is utterly dedicated to the Joker,” Batman said. “That makes her far more dangerous than she looks. Joker is in Arkham’s hospital with injuries she likely blames on me.”

“So?”

“ _So_ she wants revenge and will have no reservations about using you for that purpose.”

“She wasn’t going to kill me,” Jason retorted. “I had things under control. I thought _you_ were watching,” he said to Dick.

“Harley’s mallet damaged the mask,” Dick replied, trying to keep his voice even. “The footage stopped transmitting. We had no way of knowing if you were okay, since you decided to get rid of your fucking communicator!”

“Maybe if you weren’t shouting in my—”

“What the devil is going on here?” Alfred had finally arrived, with Wally in tow. Dick hadn’t even noticed him leave. Wally whispered something in Alfred’s ear, probably the world’s quickest explanation.

“Let Alfred patch you up,” Batman ordered. “We will discuss this incident tomorrow.” He laid a hand on Dick’s shoulder and steered him away.

“What’s there to discuss?” Jason complained. “You’re yelling at me for disobeying a stupid order and stopping Harley Quinn from escaping!”

Dick shook Batman off. “And for ditching your com, underestimating your opponent and nearly getting yourself killed.”

“What, _you’re_ going to lecture me?” Jason’s expression was a mix of anger, shock and maybe a tiny hint of incredulous amusement. “Didn’t you get yourself killed when you disobeyed orders and tried to take on the freaking Joker?”

“Yes, god fucking damn it!” Dick shouted. “I did!” The memories were there now, smacking against the walls of his skull. He felt like he was going to throw up. “I was just as much of an arrogant little shit as you are now and I paid for it. Do you _want_ to die? Because that’s what’s going to happen if you don’t pull your head in!”

“I can handle myself,” Jason shot back. “I’m not you! I could’ve taken Harley if you’d all given me a chance. Are you even any good without your guns?”

“Is that a challenge?”

“You bet your ass it is!”

“That’s enough, both of you!” Batman commanded. At this point, not even Batman’s command voice was going to defuse the situation.

“Go on, then,” Dick challenged. “I’ll let you make the first move.”

Jason’s lips curled into an ugly snarl and he aimed a fist for Dick’s face. Dick caught it easily and twisted his arm behind his back, shoving the boy face first onto the hood of the Batmobile. Jason wriggled and struggled but Dick swept his legs out from underneath him and drove a knee into his back as he fell to the stone floor.

“Son of a—”

“You done?” Dick growled right into Jason’s ear. “I’ve got years of experience on you, kid. You come at me again and I’ll wipe the floor with you _again_.”

“Master Dick, that is quite enough!”

Dick let Jason up, matching the boy’s glare. “You’re an arrogant son of a bitch, Jason. If you’re not careful, you’ll get yourself killed.” He turned away from the kid before he gave into temptation to punch him in the throat and headed for the stairs. “I should know. It happened to me.” Dick’s voice cracked a little; hopefully Jason was too incensed to notice.

Wally snagged Dick’s hand on his way past. “We should all go to bed,” he suggested. “It’s been a long night.”

Batman nodded at him. “We’ll discuss this properly in the morning when we’ve all calmed down. Alfred, if you would take care of Jason.”

“Of course, sir.”

Wally led Dick up the stairs. “You know, you probably shouldn’t have let him provoke you.”

“I’m not in the mood, Wally,” Dick said tiredly.

“Okay. Sorry.” Wally’s let go of Dick’s hand and wrapped an arm around his shoulders instead. “Babe, you’re shaking. God, this thing with Jason really messed you up, didn’t it?”

Luckily Dick was saved from answering that question by arriving at his room, where he could collect himself well away from Wally’s knowing gaze while he changed into his pyjamas. By the time Wally returned from getting changed himself, Dick had gotten his shaking under control and burrowed under the bedcovers.

“Are we even going to talk about what just happened?” Wally said as he pulled away enough blankets from Dick’s grip to get into bed. Dick groaned and hid his head under the pillow. “Real mature, Dick. Come on, talk to me. You’re obviously upset about what happened.”

“One Robin already got himself killed,” Dick said bitterly. “That’s more than enough.”

“And you’re honest-to-God worried Jason’s going to follow in your footsteps.”

“What gave it away?” Dick muttered. “The kid disobeyed a direct order and got his ass handed to him, and I’m not talking about the ass-kicking I just gave him. He could’ve been killed. Easily. I just…” He tossed the pillow on the floor. “I don’t know if I can stick around and see it happen for real. I can’t do this, Wally. I can’t.”

“Shh.” Wally pressed a kiss to his temple. “Take a deep breath, okay? You’re not going anywhere. We just got you back. Come here.” He rolled Dick over and pulled him in close.

“Some hero I am.” Dick pressed his face into Wally’s chest, breathing in the mingled scents of fabric softener and deodorant and aftershave. “I can’t even handle other people being out in the field without freaking the hell out.”

“Give it time,” Wally said soothingly. “In the meantime, you could try training with Jason and share your profound wisdom.” They both snorted. “There. See? Feel better?”

“Marginally.”

“I’ll take anything I can get at this point.” Wally caught Dick by the chin and raised his head for a kiss that had both their eyes sliding shut, the tension floating away from their bodies like smoke.


	22. Target

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick and Jason finally confront their issues... or some of them, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to =eveningskies= for giving me the idea that sparked this chapter.

Wally had already left for school by the time Dick woke up. Dick rolled over onto his back, gripping the headboard as he stretched his back out. Shame flooded his belly. No matter how much he had freaked out last night, there was no excuse for taking it out on Jason. He was half-tempted to throw the covers back over his head and pretend the world didn’t exist for a while until he stopped being such a pathetic mess of a person, but he was actually kind of hungry.

So he rolled out of bed with a groan, threw on the first clothes he found and padded down to the kitchen in his socks. If Alfred wasn’t around, he’d just have a bowl of cereal, even though he’d missed breakfast by several hours. Whoever decided cereal was only supposed to be a breakfast food had done the world a serious disservice. Alfred was in the kitchen making sandwiches anyway, so the point was irrelevant.

“Good afternoon, Master Dick.”

Dick replied in kind, sitting on the counter nearest to the door—Alfred rarely told him off for it. “I’m surprised nobody woke me.”

“Master Bruce requested you be permitted to rest,” Alfred replied. “I had intended to wake you for lunch in a few minutes.”

“Great. I’m starving… well, I don’t mean that literally because I definitely wouldn’t be sitting casually on the counter if—”

“Naturally, sir.” Alfred placed a few sandwiches on a plate and carried it to the dining room. “Please put some shoes on before sitting down to eat, Master Dick.”

“Slave driver,” Dick muttered, earning a chuckle from the butler. He came back wearing sneakers, the first shoes he’d found. It was unlikely he was going to leave the house anyway and it wasn’t like he had anybody to impress. Wally couldn’t give less of a damn what he wore. He’d seen him in the original Robin costume.

Alfred hovered nearby while Dick ate; Bruce had probably told him to keep an eye on him. It was a little annoying, but he could live with it. He’d brought it on himself.

“Is Jason okay?” Dick asked as he started on his second sandwich.

“Master Jason has suffered no lasting injuries,” Alfred replied. “Harley Quinn did far more damage to him than you did, sir.”

“That’s good… I guess.” Dick scowled at a piece of lettuce poking out of the bread. “I shouldn’t have let him get to me. I would’ve been pretty upset myself if Bruce had just been yelling at me.” The Batman at the end of his rope was probably one of the most frightening things Dick had ever experienced, possibly even scarier than the Joker. At least he could fight that green-haired bastard, and have a chance of winning.

“I am glad to hear you feel remorse, sir. Perhaps Master Jason could benefit from an apology when he returns home.”

“Point taken, Alfred.” Dick polished off his sandwich. “I’ll be down at the cave taking a look at Jason’s mask camera, see if I can fix it. We need to come up with a sturdier design so this doesn’t happen again.” Thinking about repairing Jason’s mask camera brought back a question in Dick’s mind that he had filed away some time ago. Alfred took his plate away and started for the kitchen. “Hey, Alfred.”

Alfred paused in the kitchen doorway. “Yes, sir?”

“The mask I was wearing when I died…” Dick took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Did any footage transmit to the computer before it was too damaged to keep recording?”

“I am under the impression the camera was damaged in the initial tussle between you and the Joker,” Alfred replied. “I do not believe Master Bruce was able to salvage any footage after that.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Dick said quietly. What he’d been through was probably better left up to the imagination.

Dick got moving before he had the chance to start moping again. Jason’s mask was already on a table in the Batcave; Batman had probably started working on it before deciding he’d rather go to sleep and do it later. Bruce had a habit of forgetting how late it was when he got home from patrol.

Dick got to work peeling back the layers of the mask to get at the camera lenses directly above each eye-hole, each of which was about the size and thickness of his thumbnail. And the damn things had been smashed to pieces.

“Damn it,” he muttered, saving the fragments in the closest thing on hand: a petri dish. They must’ve been hit directly by Harley’s mallet to sustain that kind of damage. That must’ve hurt like a bitch. Jason probably had a killer headache.

The mask cameras were notoriously brittle since they had to be so small. The cameras inside Batman’s cowl were slightly sturdier due to the greater room available, but they still broke on a regular basis. There needed to be a complete redesign with new materials unless Bruce really liked wasting his time and money on unnecessary replacements.

Dick was in the middle of researching other materials to substitute for the glass lenses on the Batcomputer when Alfred visited briefly to inform him he was about to pick Jason up for school. Dick appreciated the warning. He had run through countless things he could say to apologise, but everything sounded inadequate. Jason didn’t owe him anything—certainly not forgiveness—and Dick felt selfish even thinking about asking for it. But he wanted to say _something_ , even if it was just a promise not to lay a hand on him again. He wanted to explain that he had been scared and that had made him lash out, but the words wouldn’t even order themselves right in his head.

Dick shut off the computer, grinding his teeth. He couldn’t focus. What the heck was wrong with him? He used to be a natural around people… well, most people. It had taken him a while to gel with the Team due to vastly different training techniques and ages, but once he’d settled in and agreed to Kaldur’s leadership, things had gotten easier. He’d had no trouble getting along with Zatanna, who’d come along later, and he had become pretty good friends with Raquel when she arrived. He’d always been a chatterbox; he didn’t like being lost for words. It was yet another thing that had been irreversibly changed. He kind of wanted to break something.

A quick session of abusing the punching bag in the Batcave’s training area took the edge off the feeling and he had time to take a quick shower before Jason got home. They were going to have this talk, even if Dick just had to open his mouth and trust the right words would fall out. It’s not like things could get any worse, could they? Okay, maybe it was a bad idea to think that. He probably just jinxed himself. Damn it.

Jason and Alfred were coming in through the door when Dick came out of the Batcave, his hair still slightly damp. He and Jason caught each other’s eyes. The younger boy jerked his head and started for the east wing where both of their bedrooms were located. Dick followed him, throwing Alfred a pained look; clearly he’d said something to him on the way home.

“Bruce and Alfred already yelled at me for provoking you last night,” Jason said, opening the door to his room. “So, I guess I should say I’m sorry or something.”

“It’s okay, Little Wing,” Dick replied. “I’m sorry, too.”

Jason groaned and threw himself facefirst onto his bed. “Is this gonna be a thing now? Are we gonna be, like, fighting Two Face and you say something like ‘Watch out, Little Wing!’ and then Two Face dies because he’s laughing so much and falls into a vat of acid or some shit?”

“Tempting, but I promised Bruce I’d stop killing people.” Dick sat on Jason’s desk. It was surprisingly tidy, all his unused school books stacked neatly in the corner and all his pens and pencils sitting in a mug with the Batman symbol on it. Cute. Dick felt like a slob in comparison.

“That’s cool. I’ll just tell Bruce he slipped. One less loser to worry about.”

“Yeah, but we picked you up so I’m pretty sure it balances out.”

Jason snorted. “You’re an asshole.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who broke some very expensive recording equipment last night,” Dick replied. “I only did that after I’d been Robin a few years. You’re ahead of the curve, young grasshopper.”

“It’s not like I hit _myself_ in the face with a novelty mallet,” Jason muttered. “That thing _hurt_.”

“You’ll be fine. You’ve got a hard head. Bet we could bounce a bowling ball off that thing.”

“You’re fucking weird,” Jason groaned.

“It’s a side-effect of the life we lead,” Dick replied. “It’ll happen you eventually.”

“Sounds scary.”

“Eh, my scary sense is kind of skewed these days. Dying by way of fiery explosion can do that to you. Clowns scare the hell out of me now.”

“Clowns are creepy anyway.”

“Yeah, but I grew up in a circus surrounded by them.” Dick fiddled absent-mindedly with a pen he’d taken from the mug. “While we’re talking about this, you do understand why I freaked out last night, don’t you?”

“You lost connection and thought I was gonna die or something?”

“That’s an oversimplified explanation, but yeah.” Dick dropped the pen back into the mug, wincing inwardly. “It’s not that I haven’t disobeyed my fair share of orders, but since doing that got me killed, and that’s not an exaggeration, I was honestly worried you’d go the same way.”

“Okay, yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. Happy now?”

“I take it that _means_ you’ll obey Batman’s orders in the future?” Dick said sternly.

“Even if it’s a dumb order or one of us will die if I do?”

Dick sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. This big brother thing was hard. “Honestly, you should only disobey an order from Batman to save your life or somebody else’s, even if it means letting a criminal get away. Batman always has a reason for the orders he gives.”

“Don’t tell me you never questioned a fucked up order.”

“Of course I did.” Dick slid off the desk and joined Jason on the bed, narrowly stopping his head from hitting the headboard. “You have every right to do that. But if Batman shuts you down, you accept it. You can always argue with him later, if you enjoy beating your own head against a wall.”

Jason made a disgusted noise and buried his face in his pillow. “If I knew this was going to be a freaking dictatorship…”

“Oh, please. You would’ve signed up anyway. Where’d Bruce even find you?”

Jason muttered something including the words _stole_ and _Batmobile_.

“You did _what_?”

Jason lifted his head. “I stole the tyres off the Batmobile.”

The words slowly filtered into Dick’s head, slotting themselves in the right order like puzzle pieces. When the full picture was finally in place, he howled with laughter.

“Shut up!” Jason complained. “I thought he was gonna, like, eat me or something.”

Dick wiped his eyes. “Oh my God. That’s _gold_.”

“I hate you.”

“Aw, come on. It’s funny.”

Jason blew a raspberry. “Your boyfriend’s a bad influence.”

Dick snorted. “Oh, please. If either of us is a bad influence, it’s me.” He stretched, accidentally-on-purpose smacking Jason on the back of the head. “I like this talking thing. I feel like we’re really bonding here.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Of course I am. That’s my name.”

Jason smacked him in the face with his pillow. “Stop.”

“But isn’t it my brotherly duty to be as much of a pain in the ass as I possibly can?”

Jason glared at him for a moment before dropping the pillow. “Wait. You want to be my brother now? I thought you hated me.”

“No, I…” Dick sighed. “I never hated you.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“That’s not—shit. How the hell do I explain this?” Dick slipped off the bed, paced to the door and back. He completed three circuits before he finally found the words. “I’m going to be honest with you, Jason. When I found out Batman had replaced me, I was… unhappy.” Understatement of the fucking year. That was another memory he didn’t like bringing into the light. “But… look, it was never about you. I was upset with Bruce more than anything. I may have resented you for a while, but I realized it was stupid to be like that when it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known how important Robin was to me… but Bruce did.”

Jason had slid to the end of the bed as he watched Dick pace. “What do you mean?”

“Robin was a nickname my mother gave me in the circus,” Dick said as bluntly as he could. He really didn’t want to get emotional right now. “The rest of my family started using it and it kind of stuck. So, when it came to choosing a name as Batman’s protégé it only seemed natural to pick a name that honoured my family, reminded me of what I was fighting for, who I used to be… all that sappy crap. It was important to me. I don’t have much left of my family—a few posters, an old costume, a language I barely get to speak. I mean, I know that’s more than a lot of people have, but those things are all incredibly precious to me and it… well...”

“All I got from my father was child support,” Jason muttered. “And even that stopped after he kicked the bucket. Didn’t even get that much from Mom.”

This conversation was getting depressing at about the speed of a bullet train. “Sounds like somebody could use a hug.”

“Fuck off.”

“You wound me, Jason,” Dick said, putting a hand over his heart. “Okay, look, Robin was never really Bruce’s to give out.”

“Have you ever told him you feel that way?” Jason asked. Even with his prickly, abrasive demeanour, it actually seemed like he cared.

“And rock the boat when things are just starting to settle down again?”

“You should,” Jason insisted. “Bruce shouldn’t have done that. If I had known, I never would’ve—”

“Honestly, Jay,” Dick interrupted. “It’s okay. I’m over it. Bruce and I have talked about the other things that bothered me, which were way more important.”

“Like what?”

“Eugh.” Dick waved his hand; this was going to sound stupid said aloud. “Some stupid ‘daddy didn’t love me’ bullshit that I got over. I had a lot of insecurities I don’t really want to get into again. Bruce knows about them and had a major guilt-trip over it, so that’s over, at least until the next time he forgets to act like a parent.”

“Daddy issues? Seriously?”

“Psh, it’s not like I’ve got a monopoly on those,” Dick replied. “I swear the whole Justice League could be renamed the _Daddy Didn’t Love Me_ club.”

Jason, who had been taking a sip of water, choked and spat it everywhere. “God damn it, Dick,” he coughed, wiping his mouth. “But seriously, why are you being so open with me?”

Dick shrugged. “Uh, well, I figured that after all the crap I put you through, the least I owed you was an explanation.” He was starting to feel stupid for blurting all this stuff out to a kid he barely knew.

“Right,” Jason said slowly. “Maybe instead of puking your feelings all over the room, you could answer some questions I have.”

“Sure.” Dick pulled out the desk chair and straddled it, folding his arms over the back and resting his chin on them. “Ask away.”

“Okay, for starters, why the hell did you lock me in a shipping container?” Jason sounded more curious than angry, which Dick found encouraging.

“To stop you from disobeying any possible orders Batman would’ve given you to stay out of the fight between us,” Dick replied. “You’d already disobeyed him once during the chase to the train station—sorry about your knee, by the way—so I had every reason to believe you’d do it again if you thought he was in danger. I think I’ve already made it clear the conflict was between him, me and the Joker. It had nothing to do with you and I didn’t want any more collateral damage than I’d already caused.”

“I’m collateral damage. Nice.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Dick said irritably. “One dead Robin’s more than enough, okay? I was _not_ going to add to the tally in any other way than doubling up on myself. Ugh, I should not be discussing suicidal ideation with a thirteen-year-old.”

“My mother was a drug addict and my father was a rapist and a murderer. I can take it.” Jason’s tone made it clear his family life was not up for any further discussion. “Why do you care about me anyway? I stole your identity.”

“I’m not a complete asshole.” The irritation that had seeped into Dick’s voice wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. “I don’t like seeing dead kids, no matter the circumstances. You’re wearing my costume. You’re walking around with a target on your back that was painted by _me_. I think I’ve already made it clear I don’t blame you and even if I did, I wouldn’t want you dead because the conflict between me and Bruce had _nothing to do with you_.”

“So?”

Dick groaned and rested his forehead on his folded arms. “You really don’t get it yet, do you? Jesus Christ, what the hell do I have you say to make you understand? You’re still a kid.”

“So are you.”

“You’re missing the point,” Dick said, looking back up at him. He clenched his teeth, scooping the words out of the deepest recesses of his brain.  “Jason… you are thirteen. I was your age when I died. Okay? Does that make things clearer for you?”

“You don’t want me following in your footsteps?”

“Something like that.” This line of conversation was starting to make him feel tired. “Look, whatever. I’ve said what I wanted to say.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Jason said. “You had some weird-ass replacement issues because Bruce made me Robin, then you decided you didn’t want me dead so you locked me in a shipping container, and now you _really_ don’t want me dead so you’ll rail at me for nearly dying.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “Interpret it however you like. I felt like I owed you an explanation for all this bullshit. I gave you one. It’s not my responsibility to make you understand if you don’t want to.”

“No, I get it. I think.” Jason smiled sheepishly. “It’s fucking weird, but there’s kind of a logic there. What if I hadn’t replaced you? Would you have come home sooner?”

“Maybe, even if it was just to smack Bruce upside the head for letting the Joker live.”

“Eh, can’t say I blame you for wanting the guy dead,” Jason said. “I’d probably want the same thing if it had happened to me, and I don’t think I could’ve been persuaded to come home if I was replaced and unavenged and Batman tried to stop me from taking matters into my own hands.”

“If it had been anybody but Wally who came after me,” Dick replied quietly, “I would’ve felt the same way.”

Jason pretended to vomit over the side of the bed. Dick grabbed the bedcovers and pulled, sending him sprawling onto the wooden floor. Maybe this big brother thing wasn’t so difficult after all. Jason could be a brat sometimes, but he knew when to shut up and listen.

* * *

 

“I’m sorry to hear about your uncle,” Dinah said as soon as Dick had settled himself in the armchair opposite her.

“Thanks,” Dick said automatically. “It was rough hearing about it, but I’m doing better now, before you ask.”

“Interesting.” Dinah made a note on her legal pad. “It usually takes people longer to even come to terms with the loss of a loved one.”

“Wally’s been helping me,” Dick replied. “He let me get a lot of things off my chest. I also visited my uncle’s grave again and kind of, you know, talked to him. Then Clark visited and told me my uncle had known I was Robin because of Bruce. I talked things out with Bruce so we’re cool now. I guess it was just his time to go. I only wish I’d come home before he died.”

“It sounds like that’s really bothering you.”

“It is.” Dick shrugged. “But it’s not like I can do anything about it now. It’s just something I’ll have to live with. I’ve been trying to focus on things I can still do something about, like trying to stop Jason from getting himself killed in the field like an idiot.”

“Bruce told me what went down between you two last night,” Dinah said, scribbling more notes. Neither of them had touched their tea or biscuits.

“Jason and I talked about it today and I think I convinced him I’m not going to kill him in his sleep,” Dick replied, fiddling with his spoon. “I freaked out and took it out on him last night because he nearly got killed and it scared me. The kid’s wearing my old symbol. I feel responsible for him.”

“That sounds like progress to me.” Dinah had barely lifted her pen from the paper the entire session. “It would be perfectly understandable if you had any negative feelings towards him because of the situation.”

“I got over that months ago,” Dick said. “Hardly seemed right to blame the kid when Bruce was the one who’d given the costume away. Whatever. It doesn’t really matter anymore. Jason does good work as long as he’s obeying orders and not trying to overextend himself. I’m hoping to help Bruce train him, plug up any holes the big guy might’ve missed, starting with learning to respect authority _for the love of God_.”

Dinah chuckled at his exasperation. “It sounds like you’re thinking about getting back into the game yourself.”

“Yeah, about that…”

“Oh, so you are? Have you discussed it with Bruce yet?”

“Yeah, right after we cleared up the whole telling my uncle about my secret identity issue.” Dick spooned a lump of sugar into his tea. He had a sweet tooth today. “I’ve got a name, Nightwing, courtesy of Clark. All I need is a costume and to get back into training for non-lethal combat. Once Bruce is convinced I’m ready, we’ll have a trial run out in the city to see how I do. He’s way more concerned than I am. I probably know the city almost as well as he does at this point, and it’s not like I’m going to freak out if I see a clown or something.”

“Do you have any plans to return to the team?”

“I haven’t given it much thought yet,” Dick replied, blowing on the surface of his tea. “I’ll return to them when I’m ready, I guess. None of them aside from Wally and Jason know my secret identity, though I suspect Artemis was close to figuring it out because I couldn’t resist dropping hints, so the news of Dick Grayson’s return won’t really concern them. They won’t be easy to convince it’s really me when I do go back so I’m happy to put it off until I’m ready.”

“That sounds like a reasonable decision,” Dinah commented, setting aside her legal pad in favour of her tea at last. “I’m pleased with your progress so far, Dick. I had my concerns that your trauma may have been too severe to allow for recovery, but I’m happy to be proven wrong this time. Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

“Nothing therapy-related,” Dick said lightly, stirring another lump of sugar into his tea. “I’ve been thinking of costume ideas.”

“Oh, really? I’m a pretty snappy dresser, you know. I could offer my womanly wisdom.”

Dick grinned. “I’m thinking of ditching the cape. Those things are dangerous. I don’t want to get sucked into a jet engine or something equally as stupid.”

“I’ve never been a fan of capes myself. Unless you’re Batman and take the _bat_ part of your name seriously enough to want to glide like we all know he’s tried.”

“What do you mean _tried_? He worked on that cape until it actually could.” Dick took an experimental sip of his tea. Just sweet enough. “I’m thinking of going black but adding some blue somewhere. I’ve had enough of red to last a lifetime. And I want a symbol, like a bird. I’m not Robin anymore but I still want some kind of connection to who I used to be.”

“That’s perfectly natural,” Dinah replied. “And blue is a lovely colour. What other ideas have you got?”

“Well, I’m thinking about a high collar…”

Dinah choked on her tea. “Not unless you want to be Discowing.”

They both laughed. The sun outside was finally setting, shining off the surfaces of their tea and the spoons and Dinah’s blonde hair as she shook her head at him indulgently like a favourite nephew who’d just said something silly but endearing. Dick hid his grin behind the brim of his cup but he couldn’t do anything about the redness on the tips of his ears. Today had been a good day.


	23. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick prepares for his first outing as Nightwing. Wally appreciates the outfit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The final chapter.

Dick adjusted his new black gloves, acutely aware of Wally’s eyes on him. The stylised blue silhouette of a bird stood out, bright and electric, against the black backdrop of his chest. The suit was like a second skin, which Wally seemed to appreciate.

“Hey, beautiful,” Wally whispered in Dick’s ear, snaking his arms around his waist, slowly rubbing circles on his abdominals.

“No real names in the field, KF,” Dick teased, lifting the new domino mask to his face.

“Not in the field yet, _Nightwing_ ,” Wally murmured. “That suit leaves nothing to the imagination, you know. Not that I’m complaining…” He’d been distracted by finding Dick’s hip bones.

“I did tell you I hate capes, didn’t I?”

“Mm, you did.” Wally paused to nibble Dick’s earlobe. “You ready for this?”

“I’ll be fine,” Dick said. Wally’s attentions scattered the rest of his thoughts away and he took a moment to pick them up again. “It’s just a test run. Bruce has already made it clear I’m not allowed to do the really dangerous stuff yet. If something happens and it stops being a normal patrol, he’s sending me home.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Not really.” Dick sighed. “Don’t have a choice, though. I need to prove I can handle normal patrol before he lets me start working properly again. If I can’t do that, then I’m never gonna get back on the team… where I can watch out for you.”

“Aw, are you getting protective?” Wally pressed his lips against the pulse point beneath Dick’s jaw, making Dick melt in his arms.

“I’m always protective,” he murmured lazily, his eyes sliding shut. “We both are.” The rest of his thoughts slipped through his fingers like water when Wally grazed his teeth against the pulse point on his neck. A soft moan tumbled past Dick’s lips before he clapped a hand to his mouth.

“Relax, Dickie.” Wally’s warm breath tickled his ear. “Nobody heard that.” Butterfly kisses along his jawline had Dick resting against Wally’s chest again. “I like your costume.”

“Of course you do, you pervert. You’ve been feeling me up for the past five minutes.”

Wally chuckled, pressing a kiss to the shell of Dick’s ear. “You don’t seem to mind. God, I almost don’t want to let you out on the streets in that.”

“You just want to keep me all to yourself,” Dick said, laughing softly. “The suit must be having a serious effect on you. You’ve never been _this_ handsy before.”

“Mm.” Wally was planting kisses along his jugular while his hands continued their exploration, although they stopped just shy of anywhere truly inappropriate. Neither of them was ready to cross that particular boundary yet. “Robin was cute, Nightwing is _sexy_. I can’t help myself. I wanna go back in time and thank your parents for those genes, because _damn_.”

Dick let out a very attractive snort-laugh. “You’re just laying on the charm tonight, aren’t you?”

There was a knock on the door. “Master Dick, Master Wally, Master Bruce would like you both downstairs immediately.”

“Awww.” Wally spun Dick around and caught his lips in a deep kiss. Dick bit on his boyfriend’s lower lip in response. The kiss was quick and violent by their standards, but they needed to get downstairs before Bruce came to check on them himself. While Bruce had been incredibly permissive about their relationship, testing his patience just before patrol was not a good idea.

Dick pulled away first, taking a moment to count Wally’s freckles while the other boy took his time opening his eyes. “Don’t wait up for me,” he said. “I probably won’t be back until late and you should show your parents you still exist every once in a while.”

“But it’s not a school night,” Wally complained. Dick dragged him out of the room, grabbing his modified utility belt and escrima holster on the way.

“Then you can come see me tomorrow,” Dick promised as they started down the curving stone staircase that led to the rest of the Batcave. “I’ll text you when I get back in so you know I’m okay.” They hadn’t really discussed _it_ , the _thing_ hanging over both of them that made Wally grab Dick and crush him to his chest at seemingly random moments, that stopped Bruce and Alfred from commenting when they occasionally caught them sleeping in the same bed. Sure, they’d talked around the issue, stated the facts, but they had never truly discussed how it affected the two of them together as a unit.

“I… yeah, thanks.” Wally ran a hand through his hair, trying to look casual about the turn the conversation had taken. “I’d like that.” Dick squeezed his hand in silent understanding. They’d have to put this into words eventually, but now wasn’t the time.

Bruce was seated at the computer, entirely in costume except for his cowl. “Ready?” he asked when the two boys had reached the floor.

“Just about.” Dick wrapped his utility belt around his waist and snapped the clasps into place while Wally took it upon himself to do the same to his escrima holster around his thigh. That may have been a _tiny_ bit inappropriate in front of the others, but whatever. They’d get over it. Dick made sure the straps connecting the holster to his utility belt were secure before straightening.

“Where are we going?” Jason asked, putting on his mask. For the first time, seeing the kid in the costume didn’t bother Dick in the slightest. He had outgrown it and it was time to move on from that. Jason was a capable kid; he’d earned it.

“We’ll start downtown and work our way north,” Bruce said, turning off the computer screen and donning his cowl. “Nightwing will be riding with me tonight. Robin, take the bike.” Jason whooped and ran off. Dick and Wally laughed after him. Wally’s shoulder brushed against Dick’s; he hadn’t bothered moving away after helping him with his costume.

Batman watched them for a moment. “Are you ready for this?”

“I’ve been ready for weeks,” Nightwing replied confidently. He had spent his daylight hours training to be in sync with Batman again and refamiliarise himself with his escrima. Hand-to-hand combat wasn’t a problem for him, but he found after packing heat for so long that he now preferred to have a weapon in hand. During his breaks, he had read up on Batman’s updated case files while enduring Wally’s teasing that “all work and no play makes Dick a dull boy”, which Dick had been all too happy to disprove when he was finished for the day.

The corner of Batman’s mouth turned upwards. “We should get moving.” He headed towards the car while Wally twirled his boyfriend around for another kiss.

“I’ll be fine,” Dick promised, patting Wally’s cheek. “Don’t keep yourself up worrying, okay?”

Wally leaned into Dick’s hand, managing a small smile. “I’ll try. Be careful out there.”

“I will.” Dick reached up for one last kiss. The Batmobile’s engine revved impatiently. “I’ll see you tomorrow… KF.” He extricated himself from Wally and ran for the Batmobile, unable to contain a gust of laughter. He felt light and he felt free. He had a long way to go before he would be truly okay—Dinah had finally diagnosed him with post-traumatic stress disorder—but he had set himself on the road to recovery. With travel companions like Bruce, Alfred, Jason, Dinah and Wally, he would make it.

After all, he was no longer a victim. He was a survivor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got started on the sequel, but it's in the very early stages. I'm not going to give a definite timeline for when I'll start posting it, but don't expect to see anything for at least a month or two. Maybe longer. Second semester starts in a few days for me and after I kind of screwed up last semester, I'm going to try to pass at the very least. So... yeah. I'll see you guys when I come up for air.


End file.
